


Come See About Me

by assuredentropy, NightjarPatronus



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - With Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Margo-centric, Minor William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, POV Multiple, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Rated For Violence, There Is Only One Bed, This story is actually hopeful I promise, Women Supporting Women
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 120,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assuredentropy/pseuds/assuredentropy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightjarPatronus/pseuds/NightjarPatronus
Summary: Nine days before Midwinter’s Eve, Margo travels to Fillory in search of Eliot, her childhood friend. The answer she seeks comes with a price: she must find the Leo Blade and deliver it to the High King in hopes that the God-killing weapon will be enough to destroy their mutual enemy. The Blade is forged in Silentspell, a village shielded by fairy magic, impossible to find unless someone from the inside invites Margo in.Fen, the Innkeep and Knifemaker, shelters a stranger from Earth by the name of Margo and finds herself falling for her. As they grow closer, the truth of Margo’s mission comes to light, and Fen must confront secrets of her own. Secrets about her sister Fray, and about the men who stormed Castle Whitespire each year in an attempt to overthrow the King, never to return.At the same time, Eliot returns to Fillory with friends to finish his Quest, setting foot in the world from which he had fled years ago. Eliot wishes to find the Gods and ask them to save the kingdom from Irene McAllister, the tyrant King who once claimed him as her ward.Prompt 42: Christmas Inheritance. Story by NightjarPatronus. Illustrations by assuredentropy.
Relationships: Fen/Margo Hanson, Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn (past), Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi/Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker (background)
Comments: 116
Kudos: 15
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	1. Part One: Margo

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, fellow shippers and TM fandom dwellers!
> 
> To those of you who saw the word count and proceeded anyway, I commend you for your bravery. 
> 
> This fic is Margo-centric, but also includes sections told from the perspective of Eliot, Fen, Kady, and Alice, because I'm extra, and because the more I write them, the more I love them. So I may have gone a little over the 50k minimum requirement for my tier?
> 
> Anyway. For reference, this story alternates between the present plot and a series of backstories. The present plot will be titled "Part [Number]", and the titles of backstory chapters are derived from the lyrics to "Don't You Forget About Me" from The Breakfast Club (yes, that song). I have also included a timeline at the end for your reference if you wish to consult it, but it contains all the spoilers.
> 
> I want to give a big thank-you and an armful of bunnies to the mods who ran this incredible fluff-fest of a collection to soothe my good old shipper heart. AND to my artist partner, assuredentropy, for taking a chance on my massive plot overload and being patient with me and encouraging me and drawing our sweet lovable children! I would also like to give many hearts to my beta, LilyAceofDiamonds, for bearing with my many plot-driven infodumps and screams into the unholy hours of our timezone. HUGS! Any mistakes after beta review are my own.
> 
> Without further ado, let's BRING SOME FUCKING MAGIC INTO THE HOLIDAY SEASON!
> 
> P.S. I (NightjarPatronus) am always happy to hear thoughts, screams, commentaries, etc. Also, it's my partner’s first time sharing their fanart online, so give them some love!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everett crashes a gala. Margo makes a deal.

** December 2013 **

A shiver runs down Margo’s spine.

Margo doesn’t try to bite back the shudder. It always gets this cold when she uses her cryomancy to battle, and it works better than most combat spells. The water molecules in the air solidify and crackle in sharp bursts, chilling around the black nylon fabric of her evening gloves. Frost gathers at the tip of her fingers. One blink and the ice morphs into razor-sharp cones. Margo throws out her hand, and the projectiles hurl themselves down from the mezzanine with the tips pointed toward her target, drilling through the air like spears.

Everett Rowe certainly looks dressed for the occasion in that gray suit of his. The red tie around his neck coincides with the shade of Margo’s gown. She wishes she’s a telekinetic; she would’ve pulled the tie around his neck like a noose.

Her father’s gala was black tie and invite-only, but Margo doubts the security guards give a fuck about checking off a list of names. They’d let in anyone who looks like they belong, and if there’s one thing Everett is good at, it’s blending in. If Everett had been standing among the audience in silence, listening to Raymond Hanson’s speech like the rest of the prestigious guests with feigned interests in philanthropy, Margo wouldn’t have spared him a second glance.

The thought makes her blood run cold. Unassuming people tend to be the most dangerous. Everett, most of all.

Her ice spears shatter into splinters in front of Everett’s face, the closest one a mere inch from his throat when it drops. Margo takes in a sharp breath, cursing herself for jumping back to the instinct she’d spent the last twenty-five months trying to unlearn. The man in question looks up and meets Margo’s gaze. The corners of his mouth twitch in a humorless smile. Margo clutches her fist and readies herself for another attack.

Before Everett opens his mouth to whisper, Margo already senses it’s too late. He meets her gaze and utters a spell she can’t decipher from the way his lips part, his fingers crossing and uncrossing in rapid successions behind his back. Her spears are hovering a mere inch in front of him when they shatter into a million bits and fall gently to the ground like rain.

He’d let the spears get close enough to tease her. Margo’s heart drops in her chest, and her feet grow numb inside her black platform heels as she stands, rooted to the spot. She doesn’t want to admit his taunt is riling her up, but she knows.

A loud cry escapes from Margo’s mouth before she can stop herself. The guests turn to her with a wry, snobbish sort of amused look, not knowing this intruder could kill them all in the snap of a finger if he wants to. All they care about are the artifacts on auction, enchanted three centuries ago to let people see auras, or speak to the dead, or—fuck forbids—freeze time.

They don’t care what Everett is up to, so long as he leaves them alone.

Margo casts another spell and a pure beam of light bursts from her palm. Everett looks at her without stepping away. Her eyes water as the light refracts off the faceted surface of the crystals on the chandelier before she points her hand down, engulfing Everett in full. Meanwhile, Margo readies her right hand for a second shot. She doesn’t hear a thud when the light fades, only the sound of two dozen guests shouting over each other.

_ It is not me you should be fighting. _

Everett’s voice whispers in the depths of her mind, and this time, she shudders. The source of the voice has disappeared with no sign of blood on the ground where Margo had aimed her final hit. This would’ve been the third time she and Everett faced each other, and she still can’t obliterate the relentless, near-immortal son of a twat.

Her father had gone off the stage, abandoning the podium. Caspar, one of his assistants who Margo had known since she was a kid, gives her a disapproving look before taking Raymond’s place on stage. He resumes the auction of the kintsugi vase as if nothing happened. Margo takes it as her cue to leave.

The dressing room is near the back entrance of the building, one Margo or her father would never use. Margo’s platform heels wobble as she stomps her way over on the uneven ground in the dim hallway, the wood creaking underneath her feet as she steps past the crevices between the floorboards. His door is open ajar, waiting.

“Did you have to make a scene, Princess?” he says when she enters, the old nickname slapping the retort right out of her mouth.

It takes Margo a few seconds to remember her words. “None of your battle magician crones outside tried to stop him?”

“Everett Rowe,” Raymond says slowly, “is notorious among all magicians. But his appearance is not common knowledge. To my guests, your short-lived attempt at a duel appears to be nothing more than a temper tantrum.”

The calmness of her father’s voice grates Margo’s nerves. This was the same voice that once sang Beautiful Dreamer when she couldn’t sleep, but the illusion of care behind it had shattered years ago. Nonetheless, hearing it now draws back happier memories from her past.

She brings up the wards around her mind to repel his intrusion and breathes slowly through her mouth until she trusts herself to speak without shaking. “You said you found a passage to Fillory. What’s in it for you?”

This was the only reason she came to the gala. A single voicemail on a new number that should have been secured and untraceable. A voice she hadn’t heard since she had moved out of her father’s house after high school. _You’re searching for Eliot. You’ve been searching for years. All the paths to that world have sealed—Irene made sure of it. All except one._

“I have the means to get back into the Kingdom,” Raymond explains. He pulls out a small square box from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Margo walks over to grab it, but he lifts it out of reach. “The artifact allows two-way travel. I’ve secured the transaction. But for me to lend it to you, we must make a deal.”

She scoffs. “I’m not interested in being your business partner.”

He holds her gaze. “Not even if I guarantee it will be the last time you hear from me?”

“I never wanted to hear from you. You found me anyway.”

Raymond lets out a sigh, feigning the exhaustion that once would have swayed her to do as he wished. “Everything I do is for you.”

His words echo in her head now, just like they did the first time she heard the truth behind it when she was seventeen, his too-calm voice reverberating around the tetraglass orb pendant through which Margo saw how much of her memories had been taken, warped.

She seethes. “Not everything.”

“You trusted me once, Princess. All I ask is a little more of that faith.”

“You and your faith can pick up your dick and go to hell.”

“I can’t decide for you,” he continues, ignoring her retort. “You can walk out of this life right now. Stay on your moral high horse. All our history will remain just that—but you will never find your friend. All I ask is for you to bring something to Whitespire. The Leo Blade. It has enough power to kill a God.”

“You want me to bring a God-killing weapon to High King Fucking McAllister?”

“Everett is getting stronger. One day he won’t duck around your spells and disappear. He will aim to kill like you did tonight. And once he’s on your trail, Irene McAllister will be the least of your worries.”

“Doesn’t mean she and I are on the same side.”

He brings the box to her again, opening it to reveal a white plastic button, the edges fraying where threads had once woven through its holes. “Touch the button, and it will transport you into the forest before the Darkling Woods Find the knifemaker on your way, then bring the Blade to Irene. See to it that Everett doesn’t get his hands on the Blade unless he’s trying to pull it out of his own chest. You will be in Fillory again. And if your friend’s still there, well—”

Raymond gestures vaguely as his mouth twitches into a smile that could be easily missed. He has a way of making things known in a way that only threatens his target, and no one else. The box closes with a gentle click. He lays it on her palm.

“The Leo Blade,” he continues, “remains hidden inside its Forge in a village called Silentspell. A village protected by a magic shield. No one who was born outside the village can find it unless they are invited in.”

Margo strokes the velvety fabric of the box. The button sits perfectly still inside, but her skin tingles as she feels the energy rolling off it. “You want me to knock?”

“The village is known to the Kingdom as a sanctuary. Someone will cross your path,” Raymond assures her. “Find a reason for them to bring you in.”


	2. Part Two: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo embarks on her mission and meets a cute stranger from a magical village.

**Nine Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

Margo lands in the forest and wonders if she had traveled back in time. The towering trees and snow-dusted earth and well-worn tracks are just as she remembered. She’s in a clearing surrounded by trees, nothing but white and brown and gray. On Earth, it’s thirteen days before Christmas. If she finds Eliot in time, she’ll have someone to celebrate with for once.

She shakes the thought out of her head. Jumping ahead of herself has never served her well, and any time she thinks about a future that isn’t shitty, life comes to prove her wrong. 

Instead, she walks around and surveys the overlapping tracks on the thin layer of snow covering the dirt. Clearly this is a well-traveled forest path, one people come across on their way to somewhere else. The air is sharp as it brushes past her skin, and she immediately regrets wearing a trench coat and a light sweater and jeans. Fillorian winters were never this cold.

The winters aren’t the only things that changed. 

It’s too quiet for a place where two-thirds of the animals can talk. Maybe they’re all hibernating, but Margo knows some species lurk out here all year, feeding on berries that survive in all weathers. Even the air feels different in that it feels like nothing at all. She’s supposed to feel something here, something that draws out her powers without her conscious thought no matter how long ago she quit magic.

Her slip-up at the gala is a one-time thing.

As Margo walks on, energy ripples off the oak trees in small tremors, saving its breath so what magic remains inside them will survive the harsh weather. Margo sighs. She remembers a time when she’d stop and breathe it all in, shutting her eyes in delight as boundless power courses through her body, ending at the tip of her fingers. Magic used to be alive in Fillory. It used to run the Kingdom and make everything brighter by a fraction, free, unlike the way it camouflages itself on Earth like a well-guarded secret. But now the magic lurks on the edge of something, hesitant to draw Margo in case it shatters her.

What has Irene done to this place?

A branch snaps in the distance, somewhere to Margo’s left. She turns her head to where the sound comes from, wringing her fingers together to keep them from going numb. She can always go back. The button is a two-way ticket. But she can’t risk being seen traveling back and forth, and she can’t leave without Eliot. 

A woman emerges from the trees, her face partially hidden by the large hood of her fur-lined cloak. Her cloak is a muted rose, made from velvet that shimmers at an angle, the only thing bright around these woods. Her footsteps are quiet without effort. 

“Winter can be quite unforgiving.” The woman lifts her hood to reveal her face. Her light brown hair falls in soft waves that frame her chin, and her cheeks are as rosy as the rest of her. “I suggest bundling up. No one expects Fillory to be so brutal this time of year, but the snowstorm is coming.”

“I’ll be fine,” Margo says briskly. “The cold won’t kill me.”

The woman chuckles, though she gives Margo a skeptical look. “If you say so, Miss—”

“Margo.”

Margo’s hand moves over to the pocket of her coat, where she’d put the magic button, the velvet box weighing down the fabric. She jerks away quickly, cursing herself for drawing suspicion.

“Margo. Child of Earth,” the woman repeats with a frown. “I’m Fen.” 

Fen holds out a gloved hand. The smile she gives Margo is welcoming in a way Margo doesn’t know how to reciprocate. Margo shakes it quickly, then pulls away. She hasn’t expected Fen to guess where she’s from, but now’s a terrible time to interrogate her.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but… Your name. It sounds familiar. And you remind me of—never mind. Sorry.”

“I—I get that a lot,” Margo lies. Fen looks to be about her age, so unless they’d met when they were kids, she doesn’t see how Fen could possibly have seen her. Best to not make a big deal out of it. “How’d you find me?”

“I saw you from the observation tower.”

Margo ticks an eyebrow. “You were spying on me?”

Fen tilts her head and considers the accusation but doesn’t look offended. “You’re looking for Silentspell, aren’t you?” Margo nods and is about to stammer out a response (how the fuck did she know?) when Fen adds, “We take turns watching the village border in case anyone shows up looking. Midwinter is the busiest time of year for us. Lots of patrons seeking shelter from the storm, you see. But you came at a good time. We’ve got plenty of rooms.”

“Patrons?”

“Oh! My family and I run the Inn. We’ll find a space for you. Follow me.” Fen is already turning back. “The village isn’t far.”

“That’s it?”

Fen’s smile falters. She gives Margo a sympathetic look. “Our village is the only one invisible from the High King. Shielded by a fairy deal. Lots of people seek shelter here, and we don’t turn away strangers.”

Margo shrugs and lets Fen guide her. They walk in silence until they reach a bed of grass by a river that’s been frozen over. Margo hears water gushing beneath the sheet of ice, running alive as if it doesn’t know winter has come. Across, there’s nothing but more trees. 

Or so Margo thought.

Fen leads her over a wooden bridge. When Margo steps down, she’s standing at the edge of a farm with no apparent end. The outline of the farmland curves around the edge in an arc shape, marking the border. It’s still cold inside, but the wind is gentle and rustles against the thriving crops without harm. Margo breathes in, and this time her magical core stirs. It appears a chunk of the old Fillory she remembers has been preserved in one single village. How powerful is this fucking shield?

“Holy shit,” is all Margo can say. 

Fen laughs, a proud beam on her face. “Like I said, you came at a good time. We’re making lanterns at the schoolhouse before Midwinter’s Eve.”

Margo follows Fen through the farmland that stretches on for miles. The only structure aside from the tall crops is a tower, probably the one Fen uses to keep watch. It overlooks the whole field like a scarecrow. As they get closer to the tower and the crops give way to a circular space that acts as a five-way intersection, Margo sees that it’s supported by three sturdy pegs. A spiraling staircase winds around them until it disappears into the structure, which is about three stories high with a dome roof.

“You do a lot of farming around here?” Margo asks.

“Three-quarters of our village is farmland,” Fen explains. “But we have shortcuts.”

“What, like, magic shortcuts?”

“Here.” Fen points to the third path around the intersection, the widest of them and by far the best-paved. “This one leads to Haven Way. That’s where you’ll find the Inn. The other four paths aren’t magic—we use those around harvest season, but we’ve got other shortcuts here and there.”

The slight fizzle in the air around the path is easy to miss, but Margo knows the telltale signs of an enchantment. She walks in after Fen. It takes a few steps for the magic to kick in, but once the crops around her become a blur of colors, she slides forward. They stop on the edge of a stone-paved road between two houses that leads to a busy area. Haven Way must be one of the main streets judging by the crowd. Villagers hurry along the wide path, women and children in cloaks with baskets filled to the brim with groceries, and men on horseback, securing satchels for their journey. 

“Are you a magician?” Fen asks.

“I’m—”

Margo almost says yes. It’d be hard to believe she doesn’t know magic at all, because how would a muggle from Earth find Fillory? But when she’s after a God-killing weapon, talking about magic could draw unwanted attention.

“I used to be,” Margo answers at last, looking away. “I stopped.”

“Oh. I see. I—sorry I brought it up.” 

Already, Margo feels like shit for lying. It shouldn’t matter. She’s only here for a day, maybe two. But the thought of lying to Fen is different. She’s betraying the trust of someone who put more faith in her than she deserved. 

But Margo can’t let that derail her plan. 

So when Fen turns around and guides her out, and Margo finds herself amid Haven Way, she looks around and tries to remember her path. There are colors everywhere. Bright flowers she can’t name sit nestled in flower beds beneath windowsills, blooming furiously red and orange in the dead of December. Something about them screams magic, but not in the way everything else is. It feels… personal.

The trees are bare in winter, unlike the flowers, but lively all the same. Squirrels whisper among themselves, rattling the branches as they skitter across to their hiding place higher up. Torch-stands line up along the stone-paved road in place of streetlights with small flames burning high up overhead and cottages stand along both sides, built by hand and painted in different colors. The scenery is quaint in the most attractive of ways, the kind of picture-perfect winter Margo would find in a children’s book. A setting straight out of an enchanted snow globe. The village looks like it’s frozen in time, trapped in a happier past. 

“What do you think?” Fen asks. 

At the end of the road is a larger house with a hand-painted sign that says Silentspell Inn. Margo smiles, her appreciation genuine. 

Silentspell might be the only place in the Kingdom untouched by the High King, and it’s well within Irene’s reach, nestled in the middle of the forest. The forest is a long strip of land that runs North to South. The Darkling Woods sits on the East side of the forest before the ports and the sea. On the West are the plains with Castle Whitespire on the far end, right before the mountains that mark the Lorian border on the other side. Silentspell is only a night’s ride away from Whitespire, and yet it’s so safe, the rest of Fillory seeks shelter here.

“When I was in school, our teacher, Miss Rowan, used to tell us that our village is blessed by Ember and Umber themselves,” Fen tells her. “Like a gift.”

Judging by the population in Fillory, all fifty-thousand-something people, if this was all the gift Ember and Umber had ever given, Margo hardly thinks their stingy asses should be thanked. But she doesn’t voice this out loud. Something about Fen’s wistful smile tells her Fen was raised to be faithful to the two Gods that created the Kingdom, even if they are, as far as Margo’s concerned, total deadbeats. 

“What about you?” Margo asks instead once they reach the Inn’s front steps.

Fen opens the door and gestures for Margo to go in first. A blast of warm air washes over Margo immediately, and she mutters _holy fuck_ under her breath. A giant carpet covers half the floor in front of the fireplace, patterned with the hide of some creature Margo can’t recognize. The reception chamber is all wooden interiors and cushioned chairs and mismatched hand-sewn tapestries, the long dining table sitting off the far side bare and spartan but inviting all the same. All the furniture here fit in complex harmony. A poster on the far wall tells Margo that everything in this chamber is a gift from someone in the village, bringing a hint of their home as a sign of welcome.

“Me?” Fen asks after she shuts the door.

“What would you say about your village?”

“Oh.” Fen scrunches her nose and makes her way over to the receptionist’s desk. 

Margo crosses her arms and props them over the other side of the desk. She watches Fen carefully, wondering if Fen would echo her teacher’s words. She’s curious about what Fen has to say. Fen loves this village so much, and Margo can’t for the life of her understand how, or why.

Fen flips through a few pages of her guest log and finds the next blank slot, inside which she writes Margo’s name. Then she lifts her head and meets Margo’s eyes. “I would say the beauty of this village doesn’t come from divine intervention. It comes from the people.”

Margo can’t help but feel a little hint of pride at that.


	3. Won't you come see about me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo traveled to a magical Kingdom and found a best friend.

** December 1998  **

Margo followed the Prince from a distance, careful to keep her footsteps light so he would not hear the echo of her shoes against the marble tiles. For a royal, Eliot was surprisingly elusive. Margo and her dad had arrived at Castle Whitespire two weeks ago, but the Prince had yet to speak to Margo, and she decided she was tired of waiting. 

Eliot stepped outside, and Margo followed him out, tightening her hold on her new cloak. The cloak was lilac, hand-sewn from a woolen fabric. It was gifted to Margo by Irene McAllister, the High King herself. Dad was in Fillory on business and had taken Margo along, the two of them desperate to get away from the haunting silence of their house in Los Angeles after Margo’s mom had left a year ago. And while a magical kingdom was every child’s dream, Margo’s first thought when she stepped out of the doorway from the hollows of a tree, clutching tightly to her father’s hand, was that her mom would have found Fillory just as charming.

The Prince was halfway across the garden behind the castle now, heading for the stables. Margo stopped for a moment in the garden to admire the statues standing beside the topiaries and ever-blooming flowers in red. Around her stood statues of people in long cloaks standing tall and proud, a crown atop their head and a sword in their hand. Most of these people were men, and Margo would have guessed they were the Old Kings of centuries past. In the middle of the garden was a fountain that has two thorny rose vines climbing up toward the sky in spirals wrapped around one another, shielding a beam of light in the center that never dimmed.

Margo pulled her focus back when the Prince was out of sight and hurried to catch up. She almost slipped on a patch of ice, but the wind caught her fall, or so it felt, steadying her back up with gentle hands. Irene said Fillorian winters were kind and always stopped before it became trouble, and on top of that, the snow refused to melt away for days, so it was all cold without shivers. Margo found this to be true from the beginning—it was winter, early December, when Margo and her dad first came, and it had snowed on their first day, but not too much that people had to stay in.

Prince Eliot stopped in the middle of the stables and propped himself higher up, stepping on the bottom rung of one of the horse stalls. Margo gasped, put her hand over her mouth, and hid behind the entrance of the stables in case he turned to look. What was he doing, climbing in?

She dared herself to take another peek. Eliot wasn’t going anywhere, but he stood there, propped up a few inches off the ground, and inside the stall was a black horse. The horse was leaning forward, and Eliot was whispering something in the horse’s ear. To Margo’s surprise, the horse let out a human-sounding chuckle and what looked like a nod.

“You can come out from your hiding place, Miss Hanson.”

The horse spoke in a low voice that commanded respect. Margo felt her cheeks grow hot. Sheepishly, she stepped out from behind and walked over. Eliot was so much smaller up close—his height only reached her chin—and he hunched his shoulders and turned away from his unannounced visitor. 

“You can talk!” Margo exclaimed. She ignored the Prince’s reproachful look and stared at the horse, walking up close to inspect him. 

The horse nodded in polite greeting. “My name is Gallop, Miss Hanson.”

Gallop. He looked like a Gallop. He was a handsome horse, tall and strongly-built with shining fur, but his appearance wasn’t the biggest surprise. Irene said none of the royal horses spoke, unlike the birds who’d stop for a chat at Margo’s window every morning. The novelty of the talking animals wore off after a few days when Margo realized all they wanted to do was gossip, and Margo didn’t know anyone outside the castle grounds enough to care.

“Call me Margo.” Margo turned to the Prince and stuck out her hand, trying to think what a grown-up would say in greeting. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

The Prince hesitated but turned back to her. Gallop inched forward and nudged him on the shoulder, making him giggle. He didn’t look into her eyes when he shook her hand. “I’m Eliot.”

She knew his name, of course; she’d seen him around but never heard him. Eliot spoke in a quiet voice like he was scared of something. Margo schooled her expression to a friendly smile, guilty for jumping on Eliot when the boy looked like he wanted to be left alone. But Margo had grown bored— _ so bored _ —and dad was busy working away with Irene in her study, their conversations too hushed and too well-shielded by their dozens of spells for Margo to eavesdrop. Margo could have asked the staff to play with her, but every Fillorian who worked in the castle spoke to each other with silent nods and gestures, and shifted their eyes to the ground whenever Margo walked too close.

“I’m sorry to intrude,” Margo said. She crossed her arms and propped herself up by the gate of the horse stall, tilting up her chin to meet Gallop’s eyes. “My dad and I are visiting—I don’t know how for long—and I haven’t seen everything. Well, not that I  _ can _ see everything, the King locks up her study and no one’s allowed in, ever. But the grounds, I mean. It’s snowing. No one’s out here. Do Fillorians not like the snow?”

“It is nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Margo. I have to say I am accustomed to a quieter company, but you are a delight all the same.”

Gallop spoke like royalty, so much that Margo felt he belonged here in the castle grounds more than anyone else. Eliot remained quiet next to Margo, but he wasn’t avoiding her gaze anymore. He was watching her,  _ studying her _ , and she turned to meet his eyes. His hair was a messy jumble of dark curls, and that, paired with his brown cloak and green pantaloons, reminded Margo of the Hobbits from a book her dad used to read to her before bedtime. Eliot was endearing, she decided, shyness and all. 

“I didn’t know the King had talking horses,” Margo said.

“Gallop’s not only a horse. He’s a quarter pegasus,” Eliot spoke up. “Runs faster than all the other horses even though he doesn’t fly like pegasi. It’s a secret, the talking, and-and this,” his voice grew quieter again. Eliot met her eyes quickly, then looked down at his hands, clutching the top of the horse stall gate. “No one knows.”

“Oh.”

Gallop let out a thoughtful humph, then said, “I believe Miss Margo is more than capable of keeping this secret. Do you believe so yourself?”

“I’m good with secrets,” Margo said. “I won’t tell. Really, I won’t.”

Eliot appeared to think about it, his brows scrunched up into a grown-up-looking frown. Finally, he looked up at Margo. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * *

** December 1998 **

That day, Margo returned to the castle first per Eliot’s instruction while he stayed behind with Gallop for a while longer. Once inside, Margo walked down the halls beaming. She’d found something special about this Kingdom—something special to her  _ and _ to Eliot. She had questions about the Prince still, like how he had come to befriend the horse and learn his secret, but it could wait. Getting the shy Prince to talk to her was a feat in itself.

“Enjoying the snow?”

Margo turned and came face to face with the High King. The red and amber jewels on Irene’s crown glimmered under the flickers of flames from the torches on the walls. Her lips were a shade of red that rivaled the jewels and reminded Margo of the flowers she saw earlier in the garden. “It’s nice,” Margo said. “Like a fairy tale.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” The King smiled and lowered herself to Margo’s level, kneeling on one leg. Margo looked into Irene’s eyes, blue like icebergs, surprisingly cold for someone who she thought was so kind. “The first time I came to this Kingdom, I was a small girl, not much older than you. I never wanted to leave; I had to, of course, but I’d promised myself I’d come back. So here I am, making a home out of this very castle.”

It was strange to hear Irene refer to the castle as a home. Margo’s first impression of Fillory was cozy wood cabins and snow-capped roofs and tall, barren oak trees in the forest that looked like they would haunt her after sundown. Her second impression was the cautious looks worn by all the people who worked for the High King, and the castle itself, the way it stood, tall and unforgiving over the Western plains. Castle Whitespire was majestic on the outside, but inside was nothing like the castles in Margo’s Disney books. This castle had too many empty chambers and dimly-lit halls as if it was reserved for more people than it currently holds.

Still, Margo nodded. “The gardens are lovely. Did you grow the flowers yourself?”

“I didn’t have to; the land has its own magic to let the flowers be. That’s what makes Fillory so different from Earth.” Irene stood up. “But I made my own mark here and there. Cast a few spells, whatever I could manage. Magic. You know how it is for us, I’m sure—always struggling with nature and circumstance. Here it’s better. Easier to set your powers free.”

Margo nodded, her mind absent. She hadn’t thought about magic much since she got to Fillory. The Kingdom itself was enough to make her smile. Though she missed her mom and wondered where she had gone, Margo imagined her mom coming to Fillory to find her and her dad, ever so drawn to the beauty of this land whose magic was born from the same nature on which towns and villages were built. She didn’t share all these thoughts with the High King. These were her secrets, just like Gallop was Eliot’s.

“I met Eliot,” Margo said instead.

“Did you?” Irene looked surprised. “I didn’t expect him to come around so quickly. You’ll have to excuse him. He gets skittish around strangers, poor boy.”

“Is he okay?”

“Oh.” Irene gave Margo another smile, only this time, it was strained. “No, not like that. But he’s… he finds it a little difficult to get close. It’s his  _ magic _ ,” Irene whispered the last word. “He has a hard time controlling it. It’s a shame.”

“Is he going to get better?”

Margo’s question stopped Irene mid-sentence. Irene sighed. “Only time will tell. But I’m sure he’s happy to have company. So. Thank you.”

“It’s my honor.” Margo inclined her head.

Irene patted Margo’s shoulder, then bid her goodbye and walked down the hall, heading to her study. At the foot of the spiraling stairs, before Irene climbed up, she turned back and added, “I’d be careful with Eliot, dear. The poor boy means well—I know he does—but sometimes he gets hurt. And sometimes he ends up hurting someone else.”

The King’s footsteps echoed on the limestones as she disappeared up the spiraling steps, and Margo stood in the hall, feeling a chill run through her as if she’s stepped outside again. Castle Whitespire felt like a place with its own secrets, one that every adult in this place knew and agreed not to talk about. And none of this made sense. Nothing about Eliot  _ looked _ dangerous. If anything, he looked like he was afraid of his own shadow.

Maybe, Margo decided, having a friend would make Eliot better, or at the very least, stop him before he ended up hurting himself. So that was what Margo did from that day on: she didn’t ask Eliot about his magic, and let the shared secret of Gallop bring them together. Eliot sought Margo out whenever possible, sometimes even sneaking into her room past their bedtime to ask if she wanted to draw pictures.

After the start of the new year, Irene arranged for Margo to join Eliot on his private lessons with his tutor Rafe. They hid in various corners of the library for as long as they could get away with. It was a masterclass in stalling, and they retained all the knowledge of stealth they’d perfected, much more than the trivia-knowledge Rafe would try to cram into their little brains. Their lessons would be cut shorter as the poor man climbed under tables and tip-toed to peek over tall shelves, trying to track down where his petulant pupils were hiding.

Contrary to the ever-presence of magic in Fillory, Margo and Eliot’s friendship involved no powers, and Margo could ask for nothing better. In a Kingdom where flowers grew of their own accord and animals could speak, human spells didn’t seem as intrinsic as it did on Earth, anyhow. Eliot was a good friend just for being himself. For the smiles on his usually somber face that he’d reserve for Margo and no one else.

* * *

** May 1999 **

Being Eliot’s friend meant sharing secrets. 

New secrets whispered every day, beyond the one that brought Margo and Eliot together in the first place. They shared more secrets as time went on, none of which were as grave as the one Irene had confided in Margo from the beginning. 

One evening in late spring, the two of them sat at the fountain in the middle of the garden after supper, and Margo made them crowns out of fallen twigs and rose petals that had fallen on the stone paths. Eliot said she looked regal like this, dressed up in a white dress and a crown, like a Queen. Unbeknownst to both, the secrets they shared that night would bring them closer and before they break the best friends apart. But before secrets, this was a summer evening with the most incredible stars. Stars that Margo couldn’t see from her home in L.A. They shone so brightly in Fillory that it was impossible to miss, stark and silvery against the blue-and-purple backdrop after dusk. 

“El,” Margo said, nudging his arm. “I mean, Eliot. I mean—can I call you El?”

He tilted his head and gave her one of his rare smiles. “I like El.”

“El, then. Look.” She pointed up.

“They’re pretty,” El agreed. “See those? The arrows in the sky?”

He turned his head the other way. She followed his gaze and found the constellation in question. Two arrows crossed over in the shape of an X, both tips pointing upward. “Mhmm.”

“It’s the Amaryllis Major. Rafe told me people used to wish on them.”

“Does that work?”

El shrugged. “It’s a legend. I’ve seen it before. I tried wishin’. Hasn’t come true for me.”

It made Margo sad to see her El like this, shoulders hunched, staring down at his feet. El was the saddest boy she’d met. She was told it was because El could be dangerous, but the sadness was all she could see. Uncontrollable magic and all, El must have been lonely growing up in the castle, as isolated as Margo had been the past year after her mom left. 

She tapped his shoulder again, deciding it was time for another secret. “If wishes could come true, know what I’d wish for?”

“What?”

“I would wish,” she said, nodding at the arrows crossing in the sky, “that my mom comes back to us. I miss her. Dad misses her.”

Eliot shuffled closer. Margo could feel him watching her. “Wanna talk ’bout it?”

“I know she’s out there somewhere. She left home a year before dad and I came here. Left one night and didn’t come back. Didn’t leave a note.”

“I’m sorry.” 

She forced a smile and made herself face him. “She’ll come back someday, I know she will. I believe she will. Right now she’s looking for someone—I don’t know who. I think. I don’t know why I think it. She never told me this.”

“Sometimes, you just know.”

“Yeah.” Her smile turned real. “It’s one of those times.”

“She might already be on her way.”

“Maybe,” Margo conceded. “And it’s okay that she’ll be on Earth, not here. We’ll know if she came home, anyway. Dad said he set up a ward around our house so he’ll know.”

“Where’s home?”

“We live in Los Angeles.” At his confused look, she added, “It’s a city. Really,  _ really _ big city. It’s in California? By the beach?”

El frowned, trying to piece together the words. “Lost Angels?”

Margo chuckled. “You know what? I like that better.”

“There’s a better way to make wishes,” Eliot told her. “Gallop told me another way. He said if we ever go into the Darkling Woods—like, the forest, except further, really, really far East?—if we go find the White Lady, and we catch her, she has to grant us a wish, a real wish.”

“The White Lady?”

“One of the Questing Beasts. They’re special creatures. They’ve got magic, big magic. You can get somethin’ different from each of ’em. Like, the Great Cock sends people on Quests. But the White Lady lets you make a wish, and she makes it happen. She makes it real.”

The forest. The  _ Darkling Woods _ . Margo frowned at the thicket of trees in the distance, standing beyond the wards around the castle grounds. It sounded so far, yet so within reach. It would not be feasible, of course; Margo would need time to pack, and to plan, and to consult. But the possibility of it gave her hope.

“What about you?” Margo asked. “What would you wish for?”

El thought about it, looked away again, twiddled his thumbs, squirmed. She was about to take the question back when he answered, “I’d wish my magic away.”

“Your magic?”

He gave her an affronted look. “You must’ve heard somethin’. A lot of the grown-ups talk about it. They think I can’t hear ’em.”

“Irene told me,” she admitted. 

Margo wanted to apologize for not talking about it sooner, but before she could, he spoke again. “She tell you I killed someone?”

“You what?”

El started but turned to her in surprise. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna,” Margo said. “But I know. I’ve known for a long time. And we’re still friends. It doesn’t change anything.”

“We’re friends?” Eliot asked, his voice barely audible.

“Of course we are, silly.” Margo rolled her eyes. “ _ Best _ friends.”

There was no questioning their friendship from that day on. When Margo made a decision, no spell in the world could make her take back her words, and she knew, at the moment she’d said it, that El felt the weight of her truth, and it scared him. He nodded and sat a little taller. She reached for his hand, and they held on to each other with fingers laced, shaking on the promise.

“Did Irene tell you she’s not my real mama?” Eliot finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Isn’t she?”

“I’m her ward. For now. My real mama, she’s back on Earth, too.” His hand tightened around hers. “She’s in Indiana. That’s where I’m from. Irene took me here when I was five.”

Margo breathed out slowly, shakily, and waited for him to tell her why, holding her arm stiff like she was afraid he’d jerk his hand away.

“She took me here after I hurt someone.” He shifted in his seat. “After—after I killed ’em.”

She let them sit in silence again for a few moments, pondering her next words. “That,” she said finally, “must have been terrifying.”

“I didn’t know I had magic ‘till it was too late. I was the only magician I knew ‘till Irene showed up. And my discipline, it’s… it’s not  _ good _ . That’s why I’m here. Irene’s tryin’ to help me. Tryin’ to help me control it. She’ll let me go home once I’m better.” 

He said his words quickly, wincing as he let it all out, and sniffled. Margo squeezed his hand to let him know she was listening. To let him know she’d always listen. 

“My discipline,” Eliot said, “is Death.”


	4. Part Three: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo acquires a cloak and countless new discoveries. The answer she seeks is so close, yet nearly impossible to find.

**Eight Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

The silver snowflake pendant Margo used to pay for her stay is only worth two nights’ stay. Fen accepts various forms of payment, and Margo couldn’t get her hands on Fillorian coins. She doubts anyone would trade her dollar bills for them. 

Margo’s dad had given her the pendant on her 14th birthday, a shiny little gesture of goodwill. She had given it to Alice not long after they started dating, but two years ago, three years after Alice left without a goodbye, the pendant was mailed back to Margo with no return address. Since then Margo had been keen to get rid of it at the same time she clings onto it, a little fragment of her past that symbolizes all her fuck-ups. If this little charm leads Margo to El, it would have been good in the end. One little act of penance.

Not that Margo owns any of her more profitable shit, anyway. Working at the student affairs office only paid so much, and she had to make rent somehow. The rest of her leftover fortune, she invested in clothes; if everything else about her life is going to shit, at least she’d look like she has a shred of dignity left in her.

As Margo watches the snow from outside the window this morning, she reminds herself this will be the second and final night she can afford to stay at the Inn. It’s clear by the rate of this fuckload of snow that she’s in for storm season. No one on Haven Way is strolling around. Everyone’s either making a beeline for the nearest shop, or to their own little cottages. But Margo decides to venture out again once the sun’s out, knowing today is the only day she has to find the Blade. She hopes the Knifemaker will be reasonable with their bargain.

Margo walks out into the reception chamber in the only spare set of clothes she’d packed, hoping Fen can give her a map of the village, something mildly helpful so she doesn’t spend half her day lost in a maze of corn. Fen is sitting by the fireplace with a young girl on the ottoman in front of her. She’s braiding the girl’s fine blonde hair into an intricate crown, a purple velvet ribbon weaved in between the strands.

The girl cranes her neck and stares at Margo as Margo stands there silently, waiting for Fen to finish. Her eyes go wide with apprehension, but Fen lays a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it, and she smiles, relaxing immediately. Margo returns the smile with her best approximation of a reassuring look. Something about that fear in the girl’s eyes reminds Margo of another friend who used to startle just as easily.

“Margo!” Fen finishes off her braid, then stands to greet her. The girl follows her without speaking and hides behind her as Fen approaches. “Slept well last night?”

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah,” Margo says quickly. She gives the girl another curious glance but turns back to Fen before either of them can catch her staring. “I was wondering, do you have a map? Or, like, a guide? A list of something for visitors to check out?”

“If you like books, we have a library down the road next to the schoolhouse,” Fen says in earnest. “Sorry. Tourism’s not exactly our selling point.”

“You don’t say.”

Margo hears the girl chuckle. 

“Oh. This is Fray, my sister.” Fen steps aside and gives the girl an encouraging look.

Fray inches closer and looks at Margo without blinking. Her eyes are drawn to Margo’s trench coat like she’s studying the little seams and patterns. Fray is a small girl, maybe eight years old, her height barely reaching Fen’s chest. If Margo hadn’t seen an actual fairy before, she would have described Fray as Fae-like.

After a moment’s pause, Fray lifts her chin and decidedly holds out a bony hand. Margo shakes it gently, another smile making its way up her cheeks. Hospitality runs in the family. But the resemblance between the two sisters stops there, and even though Margo’s only supposed to be here for the Blade, even though it’s none of her fucking business, she lets herself wonder if this was a found-family with a bond that no blood relations can rival.

“Your sister here found me wandering around the woods like a lost little lamb,” Margo tells Fray. “Thanks for having me in your house.” 

Fray gives Margo a polite nod.

“You’re leaving for the day?” Fen asks. “The storm’s almost upon us. It’ll be brutal out. Would you like something warmer?”

“My coat is—”

Before Margo can say _fine_ , the front door opens. Fen’s dad, Dint, comes stomping in, shaking the snow off himself. Margo had met Dint briefly last night after he finished his Sheriff rounds. Fen had introduced Margo, and they’d bid each other a quick goodnight before everyone retired to bed. He’s stoic in every way his girls are not. Right now his black cloak and the boots and the scruffy dark beard completes his package, making him look like Jon Snow had lost a bet and was forced to buzz his hair short. 

The stoic image of the Sheriff shatters when Fray runs over and throws her arm around Dint, and he chuckles before lifting her up and spinning her around once. Margo doesn’t have time to wonder about that, though. She’s more concerned with how fucking cold it apparently is. Yesterday was chilling. Today is eighty-percent of the Goddamned North Pole.

Fuck.

“I have spare cloaks in the wardrobe,” Fen tells her. Dint and Fray are already strolling off into the kitchen, Dint’s face animated as he recounts a tale of a herd of trespassing raccoons he’d had to fine yesterday at sundown. “Free of charge. Please, I insist.”

Margo looks out the window again and admits defeat. Against what shred of dignity is left in Margo that hasn’t been blown off by the wind, she nods.

“You sure you’re cool with it?”

“Goodness, I wouldn’t want you to freeze out there.”

Something about the sincerity in her voice makes Margo’s cheeks warm. If Fen had noticed, she doesn’t say anything. She disappears upstairs and comes back a minute later with a forest green cloak in the same velvet as Fen’s cloak, lined with a thick layer of salt-and-pepper fur. Margo puts it on.

“It suits you,” Fen says. 

Margo has to admit, as she looks at her reflection in the mirror next to the front door, that Fen is right. The green is subtle and understated, and complements the slight blush under her cheekbones. The buckle at the neck is golden, matching the embroidery around the rim of the hood. Margo pulls the hood over her head and fiddles with the buckle, then turns around. “How the fuck do you loop this thing?”

Fen rolls her eyes at Margo’s language but reaches to help her, her fingers brushing against Margo’s chin when she buckles the strap to secure the hood in place. Her hands are rougher than Margo imagines, but it checks out. Fen lives and works in a farming village. Callouses were inevitable.

“If you’re looking for information, I recommend the Library,” Fen says. “I can show you the way—Roan has a few maps he could try. Maybe your friend might show up on one.”

“Maybe later. I’ll find it myself. I want to walk around a bit.”

Fen looks at her, then peeks past her at the window. “You want to walk around?”

“Yeah. See if anyone knows… anything,” Margo adds. “I’ll stop by the Library later. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I won’t freeze my tits.”

Fen smirks, then schools her expression and clears her throat. “If you wish. I know you’re in a hurry to find your friend, but…” she trails off, then steps closer, “must you leave by tomorrow? We might be snowed in.”

“The thing is,” Margo starts, searching desperately in her head for the most believable lie, “that pendant I gave you? It’s kind of… well, it’s… all the money I have.”

“I see.”

The look of pity in Fen’s eyes makes Margo cringe, but she puts on her poker face, forcing away her guilt over lying. “I’d rather find my friend as soon as I can. Hopefully, he has a cottage I can crash in,” Margo says, trying to lighten things up.

Fen ponders it, then says, “I don’t want to turn you out when the storm’s about to come. What if you help out around here? Work during the dining hours, and I won’t charge you for anything. Or—the Baker could use some help with his stock. He’s supplying a lot of the pastries for us. It’s that time of year. You can help us; stay until the storm calms again.”

And when the fuck would that be? In three days? A week? 

Margo didn’t know if she could spend that long holed up anywhere, much less in a village with nothing but surrounding woods for miles and miles. But the rational voice in her head—always the spoilsport—reminds her that having a plan B is the smart option. And cooking, or waiting tables, is a price she’s more than willing to pay if it means finding her way to El.

“If I don’t find a lead by tomorrow morning,” Margo decides, “I’ll put on an apron.”

The smile Fen gives her is almost enough to make her consider changing plan B into plan A. Almost.

* * *

It’s surprisingly easy to get disoriented in a little village no larger than Margo’s college campus back in East Rochester. By mid-morning, after trekking along the edge of the farmland trying to find the Forge, she’d forgotten how the fuck she could get back to the Inn or where the Library might be. As most of the villages are indoors, Margo turns to the talking animals for directions to the Library. An irritated barn owl points out the way—five minutes’ walk south, cutting across the street full of pink cottages. Then he flaps his wings, dusting off some more snow, and continues to snooze, gripping the branch tightly with his talons.

When Margo finally sees the Library, she’s startled by how deceptively simple it looks. Though it’s three times as big as most structures around, including the humble-looking schoolhouse three houses away, it’s built to blend into the rest of the street instead of stick out like some sort of landmark. The wooden panels making up the structure have been left unpainted, but through the window, the look of the inside is unmistakable. 

A blast of warm air washes over Margo when she steps in. She gawks, amazed that the inside is even bigger. The enlargement spell feels familiar yet different like it is formed around the books inside the room, rather than forced upon this space. Fen had told Margo that the Librarian, Roan, had purchased the old house from a retired bookshop keeper. The place used to sell books rather than hold them for the public’s use, but Roan has decided to make the information accessible to everyone, and support his own profit by selling bottled enchantments outside the village shield on Saturdays.

All the aesthetics of a Fillorian bookshop remained: important old texts on the walls preserved behind glass on wooden frames, hanging candelabras on the high ceiling that sway gently when the door opens and lets in a gust of wind… even down to the leather-bound covers of the books on display, embossed in golden or silver ink, the titles a mix of English and Fillorian alphabets. Colonialism runs deep in this Kingdom thanks to all the Children of Earth’s invasions, but Margo is happy to see the Fillorians trying to find their own place in the history of their home.

The room is divided into three sections by two rows of typical library shelves that stand up nice and tall, both rows starting at the opposite end of the room and stopping in the middle to allow space for people to wander through. Even the carpet shows the three segments of the room: the first part looks like the map of the Kingdom of Fillory weaved into the carpet by golden threads; the second, a harmonious series of colorful stripes that remind Margo of fall; and the last is colorful and full of woodland creatures. 

It’s in the last section that Margo finds the Librarian sitting at his desk by the corner, blending right into the forest mural in the walls behind him with his brown cardigan and brown hair to match. On the table, sprawled out in front of him, is a hand-drawn map of a circular piece of land. A smaller circle lies within, leaning against the leftmost edge of the bigger circle. The outline reminds Margo of a waning moon.

“A map of Silentspell,” Roan says, nudging his glasses up his nose before he peers up at his visitor. His voice is shaky but vigorous, passion overwhelming his old age. “Three quarters of our village is farmland.” He traces the outline of the curves with his finger like he’s drawing a moon. “All of the Crescent is specially cultivated for seasonal harvests generations ago.” 

“That explains all the shortcuts.”

“Precisely.” Roan gestures for Margo to sit, and she settles herself in. “Enchanted nearly a century ago. But you are not here to inquire about the corn crops. What is it that you seek?”

Margo startles at his words but restrains herself. “I was hoping to ask about… the Leo Blade,” she recovers quickly. “The… uhh, the Innkeep, Fen, she told me you might know about it. O-or the Forge where it’s made. So. Here I am.”

Roan frowns, looking uncertain. “Fen, you say?”

Well. Fuck. Margo closes her eyes to think, then adds, forcing herself to sound assured, “I’m a magician. I came across information on divine forces of magic outside human capabilities in my studies. The books I read insisted the Leo Blade was no more than a myth. A rumor. But I heard it can be made.”

“And why is it that you are attempting to find one?”

“My father is the one searching,” Margo explains, and for once, she’s telling the Goddamned truth. “He sent me to find out what I could. He… must have found the power of the Blade appealing.”

“Then your father would be wise to keep his distance from it. The Blade poses a threat to some, and those who fear it may attempt to find it and see it destroyed so to keep themselves safe.”

It’s Margo’s turn to be suspicious. The certainty behind Roan’s words is too high to be a coincidence. “Who might?”

“The High King, to name one. As for the other… well, I suspect you or your father may have heard of the other. He is a collector of knowledge, but besides his desire for endless facts and possibilities, he is a snatcher.”

Margo doesn’t confirm she knows who Everett is and what he’s after, but she nods, and blinks, a silent understanding. “You think these two are after the Blade?”

“I believe,” the Librarian says, leaning closer, “the High King sees the Blade as leverage against her enemy. And the enemy thinks himself impenetrable, especially now that he has taken over the land from which he was once banished.”

The Neitherlands. As if Margo needs another reminder of that place.

“He’s dying,” Margo says. “Last I saw him. He’s desperate to ascend because his mortal form isn’t holding up.”

“Or perhaps he had accumulated enough power to shed what inkling of humanity he once had.”

The bitterness in the Librarian’s voice hints at a personal vengeance. Margo can’t guess what for the life of her. What does a Fillorian villager have anything to do with that power-stealing son of a bitch?

“I will tell you what I know about the Blade,” Roan says, “Not so you could relay the information back to your father, though I trust you have a more discreet motive at play.”

Margo looks at him with a perfectly schooled expression, natural after years of practice at looking like she stopped giving a shit. “Then why tell me at all?”

“I suppose it is of relative benefit for the Blade to fall into your hands, rather than in the High King’s possession. Not everything happens fatefully, but the making of the Blade points to a destiny too great for one person to carry alone. The High King stands on her own side. So does the man who is after the same divine power. But you are part of a greater change.”

Roan says it like he’s seen the future for himself, and Margo thinks she may as well get more truths while she’s at it. “Fen tells me you’re a magician. Are you some kind of prophet? I thought prophecy isn’t a human discipline.”

“I know the future by memory, not by talent.” Something lurks at the back of his eyes like it’s haunting him. “I have traveled more worlds than one when I was your age. Dedicated a few years to an organization that drafts the life story of every person in the Universe.”

“You worked in the Neitherlands Library?”

“With my brother.”

“And,” Margo adds, dreading the answer, “where is he now?”

“The man who snatches powers from others had taken my brother’s gift. When his soul’s bond with his magic was severed, he had no choice but to pass on.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.”

“As am I. River was a greater magician than I had been. But in a way, it was the power itself that killed him—so strong, he did not understand how to command it instead of letting it run its destructive force. When we were children, River unleashed his power in defense when we were chased by a robber on our foraging path. He had only meant to stop them. But he had gone too far. The next thing we knew, he had snapped the man’s neck.”

Margo’s wrings her hands before pulling her arms back, hiding her fidgets underneath her cloak. River’s story is too familiar for comfort. He sounded exactly like El. And Margo needs to know El is okay. She needs to be sure her best friend hadn’t gone down the same path.

“But River didn’t mean to kill,” she points out. “I know he still wants the power gone, but it wasn’t on him.”

“I thought the same. I had spoken to River on many occasions, but he insisted on self-discipline. He spent many years learning control. He mastered it, but the fear could not fade. It was I who suggested we travel. We had only meant to see the world beyond one of Ember and Umber’s creation, to seek an antidote for the ailment of his mind consuming him day after day. The Neitherlands was intended as a way station in our journey, not River’s final resting place. But that was when we met Everett. Everett had stumbled upon the Neitherlands as well, searching for answers on a cure. That was what he had told us. That he was dying, and while he was not gifted with magic himself, magic was his only cure.”

“Everett should’ve died a long time ago,” Margo says.

Roan sighs. “Everett convinced my brother that only a great sacrifice would redeem the sin he had committed as a child. A life for a life, willingly given. And Everett had procured the knowledge of energy transference from magicians on Earth and supplied all the components needed to complete the final incantation, one that could make Roan give away his magical core. I could not persuade my brother to spare himself and live life for his own sake, not to pay back the life of a criminal that he had never intended to take.”

“So he was Everett’s first victim.”

“Followed by many others,” Roan speculates. “And once Everett acquired his first magical core, he developed the capability to snatch the power from others. The stolen powers fight with the unwanted host, slowly killing him from the inside. This is why he desires immortality: he believes he deserves to live on after other humans have passed.”

“Not if I kill him first.”

Margo starts as she says these words without thinking, but doesn’t feel like looking away. The Librarian studies her curiously before reciprocating with a slight shake of his head. “The moonstones required to form the Blade had been acquired and left to grow and procreate, but the weapon may yet be unforged. A visitor from Earth had made the request years ago, but she, along with the Knifemaker, had vanished without a trace.”

“Fuck.”

“However, there is a possibility,” Roan continues, “that the Knifemaker’s daughter may continue her mother’s legacy and finish what she had started once the moonstones have reached their peak.”

This is the first Margo heard of the visitor who had made the request. She hadn’t thought about how the Blade might have been brought into existence until now. There had been travelers from other worlds as far as Fen had told her, yes, but who was this woman? And where is she now?

“How is it that you remember this when no one else does?”

“I was born outside the village. I concluded my travels and departed from Earth, then found my way here and settled months before the shield was raised. I may be the only visitor at the time besides the woman who commissioned the God-killing weapon. Unfortunately, the woman was burdened with her own secrets, and did not share her true name with anyone but the Knifemaker herself.”

“Then the Knifemaker’s daughter,” Margo decides, “do you know who she is?”

“You have already spoken to her, I believe.” He chuckles. “She is the Innkeep. The one who brought you in.”

Well. Shit.

* * *

Margo returns to the Inn around lunch hour, feeling more lost despite finding more answers than she’d hoped. She had thanked the Librarian quickly, then ran out without looking back. Fen is inside polishing the front windows with a cloth when Margo stumbles her way back. She waves, then opens the door for her guest.

“Have you found what you were looking for?”

“Kind of,” Margo stammers out as she steps in, shutting the door, “but no.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear.” 

Margo shrugs. How is she supposed to find the Forge if she had already given her false cover story to the Knifemaker’s daughter? Would Fen be mad Throw her out?

And why the fuck does Margo care what Fen thinks of her?

“It is what it is,” Margo says, relenting. “I’ll take you up on that helper offer if you’re still willing.”

Fen’s smile breaks out before Margo even finishes her sentence. She’s clearly pleased that Margo has abandoned her plan of walking out into a frozen tundra of death, and if that’s true, and Fen really cares, then at least there’s hope: Margo can keep up with making a good impression until she tricks Fen into revealing Blade’s whereabouts. Until Fen sees her as the traitor that she is.

Why does the thought of Fen finding out the truth make her want to crawl underneath the floorboards?

“We’d love more help, especially this time of year. But we’re alright in the kitchen today,” Fen says. “You can help the baker—he said he needs help with his game pies. I’ll take you to him. I think you’d get along.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s the only business owner not born from Silentspell. Most of us have been here for generations, inheriting our parents’ line of work. But he’s new. And he’s from Earth.”

“Huh.” Another person from Earth hiding out here? What are the fucking odds?

“He’s quite nice. Always looking to make new friends,” Fen assures her. “His name is Josh. I’ll introduce you.”

Margo freezes in her tracks. “Josh?”

“Oh!” Fen purses her lips, thinking, “Right. You use family names on Earth, don’t you? He told me his, but it seems to have slipped my mind.”

“Don’t tell me it’s Hoberman,” Margo grumbles.

“Hoberman!” As if today hasn’t packed enough plot twists for a tragic side-quest novella, Fen beams. “That’s it! How ever did you guess?”

* * *

Margo and Fen head on to the bakery after a quick lunch, during which Fray joins them and continues to stare at Margo with intrigue while she eats. When Margo gets to the little shop, she lets out a chuckle despite herself. There’s Josh Hoberman written all over the structure of the bakery, judging by the many pots of flowers surrounding the house that he’d probably grown himself. But most of Josh is reflected in the name of the shop, hanging ever so smugly on a hand-painted sign above the door. _The Rolling Scones._ Classic. 

When the bell rings and Margo and Fen step inside, Margo holds her breath, waiting for the baker to turn around. She can already tell the baker is Josh, from the dark blond hair that peeks out underneath his cap, to the way he walks, and also the fact that he’s humming the tune of _Livin’ On a Prayer_ as he pushes a couple pastries into his brick oven.

“I’m here to help,” Margo blurts out as soon as Josh turns, supposing a warning is better than nothing.

Josh stares at Margo, blinks, then shakes his head quickly as if trying to rid himself of potential hallucinations. When he is certain Margo is physically present, he widens his grin. “Fen! I see you’ve met my friend.”

“You’re—” Fen stammers, then turns and stares at Margo before her eyes widen with a new revelation—“Oh! Margo! Of course! Goodness, I thought I’d heard the name somewhere! You’re the friend he told me about.”

“What,” Margo says, glaring at Josh, “the fuck.”

After establishing the fact that, yes, Margo and Josh knew each other back on Earth, and yes, Margo was not at all expecting to see Josh here because what the fuck, Fen leaves the two to work on their pastries alone. Margo stands rooted to her spot and watches Josh as he brings out another apron and a rolling pin for her, marveling at the familiarity of seeing Josh in his element, making cakes and pies and the occasional pastry with questionable edibles behind a counter, a dab of flour smudged on his nose and the bridge of his glasses. 

“You got here by fountain-hopping?” Josh asks.

Margo puts on the apron, then takes the rolling pin from Josh. “Dad found a way here. Made me a deal.”

“You spoke with him again?”

“I was doing a fucking fine job cutting myself free.” Margo sighs, nods. “And then he calls me, and I don’t answer, and _then_ he leaves me three voicemails, and I delete those without listening… Friday night after work he’s got a car out front waiting for me, and two of his men persuading me to get my ass in. I would’ve run for it, but his men told me he found a way to Fillory. So there I was at his fucking Christmas Gala.”

“What’s he making you do?”

Margo almost blurts it out, but stops herself. “I haven’t told Fen the whole story.”

“I won’t tell,” Josh promises.

“You sure Fen’s cool with that?”

“Fen’s great with letting secrets stay secrets. I’m sure you can already tell. You’re staying at her Inn, aren’t you?” 

Josh smiles at the mention of Fen. And though Josh being stuck in the position that he is makes Margo’s own lie precarious, Margo is glad he found Fen as a friend.

“I am,” Margo says. “And I’ll tell you the whole story, but first, how the fuck are you here? In, well, you know?”

“Baking in a magical cottage by the woods? It’s the dream, isn’t it? Sheer dumb luck. That’s all it was. Literally dropped from the sky after I dove into that random fountain. Landed in front of Fen. Startled the shit out of her. Told her some bad people were coming after me, asked if she knew a good place to hide… Anyway, yeah, so she told me to follow her, and I gotta be honest, I was expecting some kind of outhouse or bunker or something, not a whole village.”

“I didn’t know if you made it. If you were alive, or”—Margo shakes her head—“hey, I’m glad you found yourself a nice house.”

“I did! Freshly abandoned, too. The old baker decided to skip out on the whole hidden village spiel and find a new life by a port or something. Fen helped me remodel it. You like?”

Josh opens his arms wide and turns, showing Margo the interior. It’s every bakery in every fairytale Margo had read as a girl: tiled walls, little wooden tables and seats, a glass display showcasing the prettiest cakes by the window, and smaller display for pastries by the checkout counter that divides the room between the open kitchen and the seating area. All of Josh’s ovens and stoves, even shelves and workspaces, are by the back near the stairs, fully visible for view.

“Yeah. Looks like a Josh Hoberman kind of place,” Margo admits. “You run this shop yourself?”

“Some of Fen’s staff work here, too. We collaborate a lot, and I help out at Fen’s kitchen when she needs me to. Sometimes I’m running a second diner, sometimes it’s just my cakes. Her sister’s been spending time here, too. Have you met Fray?”

“Fen’s sister? Yeah.”

“She’s sweet to strangers. Sassy when you get to know her. But she’s a great kid. She does all the frosting on my cakes.”

Surprised, Margo turns to look at the outer display again. There’s an array of multi-tiered cakes, some traditional, and others sculpted into the forms of woodland animals. All the frosting around the outside were piped in clean lines with a careful hand. Margo would never have imagined this was the work of a small child.

“You took on an apprentice?”

“Maybe.” Josh is already taking out more pie tins and molds and laying them out for Margo. Margo hasn’t baked in years; it’s hard to find that luxury when she’s sharing a communal kitchen and burning out most of her time in an office, even harder when baking would remind her of Josh. “Fray’s more like a sister to me if I’m honest. She reminds me of Josie.”

Margo remembers hearing Josh talk about his siblings: his little brother who had run away after their parents’ sudden deaths when Josh was fourteen, and the other kids Josh had come to see as family in his last foster home. The foster parent, a kind elderly woman, had taught him to bake and told the kids to call her Nana. Josie had been the youngest at the home, and Vic had been the first to age out. Margo had seen pictures of all of the kids, and known Vic personally.

“I’ve been covering for you,” Margo tells him. “For Nana’s care. In case you were wondering.”

Josh smiles, relieved, and Margo forces herself not to look away. “I’ve been looking for a way to make payments to Earth. Thank you.”

“Don’t. It’s the least I can do,” Margo says quickly. “And Nana says she’s doing alright, last time I visited. I couldn’t tell her much about you or Vic, just that you two found jobs somewhere else. Magic-related work.”

“What happened was on Everett. Don’t blame yourself. We all chose to steal from him. We knew the risks.”

_But I was the only one who got to come home,_ Margo finishes in her head. She doesn’t say it, and she tries to nod like she believes Josh. Every time she visits Nana upstate at the care facility she’d moved into when her health took a turn for the worse, Margo has had to swallow her guilt and remind herself what not to say. Because Nana knows about magic, but she doesn’t know what Josh and Vic had chosen to do, or who they had chosen to fight against. That was the only way Margo had been able to face her at all.

“Nana says the other kids still live with her niece’s family, except Josie—Josie was adopted in June,” Margo says instead. “She visits every few weeks with her new parents.”

“That’s great! Good for Josie.” Josh’s smile is genuine and makes Margo feel worse. She opens her mouth to say something else, but Josh fills in the silence before she could search for the right apologies. “Alright. Sorry to cut you off, but we’ve got game pies to serve. Fen wants to stop up before the storm, you know? I’ll do the hot water crust. You wanna work on the filling?”

Margo nods, letting Josh light the stove and reach for a skillet, and stays silent. Josh asks her about his other siblings, who Margo had incidentally met during three of her visits. She tells Josh how much they’d grown and where they’d traveled when school was out and all the little hobbies they’d picked up while she chops away at the pigeon meat and the carrots and everything else, ignoring the tight lump in her throat. 

And when Josh is caught up on the part of his life he’d been missing out on for too long, he asks how Margo’s been. Margo doesn’t say much, only the basics, before turning the conversation back to Josh. Apparently Josh had devised two hundred and thirty-seven recipes since he’d gotten here three years ago. Eventually, Margo gets Josh to rave about his custards. It’s easier this way, not having to talk, to show him how much her life had been falling to shit.

When the pies are in the oven baking, and the sky turns to dusk outside Josh’s window, Margo and Josh sit at a table and wait for Fen, sharing a pot of chamomile tea. Margo stares at Josh, marveling at how he had adjusted to life as a Fillorian so seamlessly but was still every bit the same friend she’d gotten to know on Earth. She had ruined Josh’s old life, and now here she is, barging her way into his new one. 

“Listen,” Josh says, and Margo knows he’d been watching her, wondering what’s on her mind. “I don’t know what your dad’s making you do. And you don’t have to tell me. But I won’t snitch. If you want to tell Fen, I’ll let you do it on your own time.”

“He’s asking for the Leo Blade,” Margo says. “He wants me to give it to Irene.”

“Fuck.” Josh sets down his mug of tea. “You do know that Fen’s mom—”

“Yeah. Heard it this morning.”

“I don’t know if Fen’s still working on the Blade,” Josh explains. “All she told me was that her mom started it.”

“I’ll figure out the rest.”

“And are you going to tell Fen?”

“The truth? I don’t know if I can. I’ve already given her a whole cover story. If I get my hands on the Blade, she’ll find out, right? That might be the easiest way.”

Josh takes a breath. “If there’s time, I think you should come clean. Fen might be mad at first, but she’ll come around. She might offer to help. You’re not actually honoring that deal, are you?”

Margo shakes her head. “I’ll get the Blade, but I’m giving it to Irene. I’ll use it.”

“To kill her?”

“As leverage. If El’s not in Whitespire anymore, maybe she can tell me where he is. I’ll deal with her after I find El.”

An “oh shit” expression crosses Josh’s face, and whatever ounce of courage Margo had mustered about her half-assed plan shrinks back into the depths of her mind. “Fen hasn’t shown you the stables, have you?” Josh asks.

“She hasn’t. Why?”

“Remember your talking horse friend from the castle? Gallop? He’s here. Been here for years.”

“Fucking _what_?”

Margo nearly bolts out the door, but through the window, she sees Fen coming from down the street, pushing a trolley to take all of Josh’s pies back to the kitchen storage at the Inn. She plops herself back on the seat, heart still pounding.

“I remembered what you said about Eliot. I tried to ask about him,” Josh explains, his voice quiet and hurried as he peeks out the window and waves at Fen, who smiles. Before Josh walks to the door, he adds, “But Gallop wouldn’t tell me anything except that he ran away from the King nine years ago.”

Margo doesn’t have time to process any of this before Josh opens the door. 

Fen stumbles in, then nearly rams her trolley into a table. Josh chuckles and helps Fen steer the trolley into a clear path, and Margo puts on her best smile before ducking over to the other end of the room to take out the pies. When everything’s packed, Margo takes off her apron and puts on the borrowed cloak before waving goodbye to Josh, her mind swirling with possibilities. She stays quiet on the walk back and lets Fen chatter on about all the meal preps she’d done with the kitchen staff this afternoon and the beef-and-onion stew recipe she’s preparing to use for the new visitors that will come for shelter during the height of the snowstorm. The recipe was her grandmother’s, preserved and perfected for future generations. 

Fen doesn’t bring up Josh again until she and Margo are shelving the pies into a magical preserve unit in the back of the Inn’s kitchen. “I knew I’d heard your name somewhere when you first introduced yourself,” Fen explains. “Most of the time Josh talks about his family. His childhood. I suppose I did much of the same… He talked about you a little when he first got here, but not much after. Goodness. I can’t believe he’s been here this long.”

“He hadn’t told you much about me?”

“No. Just that you were friends in… college school,” Fen recalls. “And that you got separated during a trip in another world. A world of many fountains that work like portals.”

“The Neitherlands.”

“Yes. It was a magical world, too, wasn’t it? Just like Fillory. Josh said his friend Margo was a magician like him—so that must have been before you”—Fen stops abruptly, then gives Margo a guilty look. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Margo lies.

Margo stifles the bitterness in her voice. Fen means well, even if Margo doesn’t believe she deserves any of the sympathies she’d gotten. Margo can’t help feeling like she’d gotten off too easy, because _separated_ doesn’t begin to describe how she had actually come to return to Earth alone, having lost both Vic and Josh _and_ the Compass. _Fucked beyond repair_ would’ve been a more appropriate label. And though Margo is beyond relieved to see Josh had made it through, she isn’t certain Vic would survive her fate. 

That entire heist had been Margo’s idea. Vic’s blood is on Margo’s hands, and she’ll never be able to wash herself clean.

“I’m so happy things worked out for you,” Fen says, dusting a bit of flour off of Margo’s cloak. “I was worried about your search. Records could be quite difficult to track down. A lot of them were handwritten and misplaced over the years. If it weren’t for the storm I would have liked to help you find him—but it looks like he’d been here waiting for you. Almost like fate.”

Fuck.

The sight of Fen’s smile makes Margo want to shrink back into herself. She realizes then that she never told Fen her friend’s name. Fen must think Josh was the friend Margo had been searching for, and now, since they’re reunited, Margo can say she’ll stay a while and catch up with him, and buy herself the time she needs to find the Blade. She can even talk to Gallop again and find out where El might have gone. This is almost too easy. 

But life hardly ever offers Margo a simple way out, so she pushes away the voice in her head telling her she’ll fuck up and give herself away too soon, and nods.


	5. Tell me your troubles and doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irene told Eliot she’d fix his power and bring him home. Eliot learned to waltz Margo’s way and saw a different side of his magic.

**November 1997**

The day Eliot discovered he was a magician was the first time he’d killed.

Pa had broken the rules that day. He hadn’t waited ‘till sundown to stumble his way home drunk and angry; hadn’t waited ‘till he thought Eliot was already in bed and asleep before mama got punished. Pa had barged back into their house in the middle of the day and found something to scream about. Something pointless; Eliot couldn’t remember what. Something to do with the fresh daffodils mama had picked earlier that day, sitting prim and pretty in the vase on their dining table. Pa didn’t like the colors she’d chosen.

Eliot’s chest had tensed the moment pa shattered the vase and let the fragments of porcelain scatter across the floor. He’d lifted his head in time to see the rage in his pa’s eyes, and all he had time to think was _no_. Then pa had made a grab for mama, and Eliot had reached out his little hand—to pull her away, push him back, he couldn’t tell which. Eliot hadn’t touched anyone when he made both of these things happen: lifted his mama away and made pa stop. 

Stop meant forcing pa back until the back of pa’s head hit the mantlepiece, and letting the man drop, and holding him there, all the way down where he couldn’t hurt mama again. Couldn’t hurt anyone. Eliot hadn’t thought of the spikes in front of the fireplace when he’d done it; spikes his mama had laid out three months ago to keep Eliot away from the open flames after he’d once tried to play with the firewood and singed the cuff of his Sunday shirt. 

It wasn’t until Eliot heard his mama’s whimper and saw her shaking that he’d realized what he’d done. Blood was seeping across the floor tiles, and the light was dulling in pa’s eyes, and blood ran down his own nose and his head felt heavy and his knees buckled and he fell and passed out. Vaguely, he was aware of mama backing away from him. From both of them. Mama left and shut the door, and Eliot was alone inside the house for hours, slumped against a chair, heart pounding, unable to tear his gaze away from his first kill. 

Mama returned after it got dark out. She didn’t come back alone. By her side stood a prim woman in a khaki trench coat and shiny black heels, her gray-blue eyes staring daggers at the corpse by the fireplace as she stepped inside. Mama shut the door quickly and whispered something to the woman, speaking in the same hurried way Eliot heard her speak to the priest at the church during a confession.

Eliot couldn’t turn away when the lady lowered herself to meet his eyes. She smiled at him. Her red lips reminding him of blood. “This is your boy?” she asked, turning back to his mama.

“I-I don’t know what to do.” Mama was nodding. “He’s never—”

“It’s okay.”

The lady wasn’t speaking to mama anymore. She had turned back to Eliot with a small frown, studied him for a few seconds, then smiled again. Then she reached out a hand to touch him. He didn’t back away; he couldn’t. When she brushed away a smidge of dried blood from under his nose, he was surprised to find her skin as cold as his. 

“It’s okay,” the lady repeated, wiping the blood away with a handkerchief she pulled out of her pocket. “You’ll be okay. We’re going to fix you.”

Eliot took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean it,” he blurted out. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t.” She held out her hand, and after a second, Eliot took it and let her pull him up. “My name is Irene. What’s yours?”

“E-Eliot.”

Irene tugged Eliot forward, gesturing for the door. He let her lead him there, then craned his head back to look at mama. Mama stared at the ground and didn’t look at him. 

“I’m here to help you, Eliot,” Irene said. “Your mama asked me for help. Now grab your coat.”

“Where are we going?”

Irene grabbed a coat off the rack and handed it to him. She’d chosen Eliot’s best coat, the navy blue wool one he’d only ever wore to church. Eliot held it in his free hand, the stiff fabric strange and heavy under his touch. 

“Somewhere safe,” Irene said. “You’ll like it there. All the children do. You’ll get better if you do as I say.”

“When are you bringing him back?”

Mama’s voice made Eliot flinch. Irene’s face was an image of calm as she turned to face his mama. “It won’t take more than a year. No children stayed that long. It’s a good thing you found me when you did. Don’t lose faith. When Eliot gets better, he can come home.”

Maybe mama hadn’t wanted to send Eliot away, after all. Eliot wanted to reach out to mama, tell her he’s sorry. But Irene’s hand tightened around his, and he couldn’t do anything. And when Irene guided him out the door, mama didn’t call out for them to stop. 

The last memory Eliot had of Indiana was his mama’s sobs behind the closed door, and Irene pulling him away, ushering him into a black car waiting by the curb. It was not the first time Eliot heard his mama cry, but it may be the last. 

* * *

**September 1999**

Castle Whitespire was an ancient structure that aged with the rest of the Kingdom of Fillory, bearing every sign of torment in the limestone bricks that lined its walls. The limestones were chiseled piece by piece from the mountains to the west, marking the Lorian border on the other side. Limestones keep the castle standing strong as well as the vines twisting around the foot of the walls, climbing their way up and embedding themselves into the structure like desperate clawed hands.

The support from the vines had given the castle a strong foundation, but rendered it most vulnerable at the top. As far as Eliot remembered, there were always parts of a tower or a platform fenced off by a set of ropes, with half a dozen builders crouching among the wreckage, trying to mend back the fragile pieces. The builders ignored Eliot whenever he stared out his window to watch them work. Or perhaps, like the housekeepers who Eliot’s his chamber and the waitstaff who served his meals, the builders only snuck glances at Eliot when his gaze was turned elsewhere, too afraid of the possibility of becoming his second kill. 

Eliot liked to watch the builders despite all of this. He’d press his head against the glass to see the way the cracks along the walls light up in silver webs and mend themselves back together. Irene wasn’t the only magician in Whitespire, though she was by far the most unapologetic with her powers. Perhaps the limestones were sentimental. Perhaps they resented Irene, and Eliot, too, and anyone who was not born from this land.

Margo’s arrival challenged this theory before Eliot could make sense of it. Before Eliot had spoken to Margo, before he had caught her attention at all, he watched her. He’d wander to the top of the spiraling staircases in a tower and look up at the beams supporting the cone-shaped roof jutting against the bricks and cement. Eliot expected to see cracks marring the worn and thrice-repainted surface of the wall after Margo had passed by these same stairs moments before, but to his surprise, they held.

By summer, Margo and Eliot had become inseparable, and any thoughts Eliot had about the limestone walls retreated to make way for happier memories. Margo had a way of growing on people, and Eliot bonded fast. Their lives were quiet and hardly-disturbed until mid-autumn when Irene declared she was hosting a ball followed by a luncheon. The children were expected to attend quietly: seen and not heard, dressed in the same formal wear as all the guests, none of whom were Fillorian.

The ball commenced when the clock struck eleven that day. It was a masquerade ball, and Eliot and Margo were among the eager crowd of guests admiring the crown jewels on display in front of the thrones, newly unearthed from the archives chamber and impeccably polished. The precious gems on the crowns were gold and purple, and they matched the smaller stones sewn onto Eliot’s royal blue blazer and the silver hairpiece weaved into Margo’s braid. 

Some of the guests turned their attention to the two children instead of the crowns. Eliot cowered under the guests’ curious looks, his heart’s pounding echoing between his ribs. On Margo’s lead, the two children shuffled away and sat by the ottomans at the side of the throne room as the grown-ups danced by copying one another. The music seemed to grow louder every time people swung by where Eliot and Margo sat, the woman’s gown brushing Eliot’s knees over his brown pantaloons. It made his head hurt.

Margo stood up, reached for Eliot’s hand, and gave him a tug. Irene and Margo’s father were deep in conversation as they danced on the other side of the room, too busy to notice them slipping away. Margo winked and beckoned Eliot to follow, muttering polite apologies to the people they pushed past. She lifted her head as she walked, and Eliot remembered that when he’d first met her, he had believed she was royalty, too. 

But if Margo were a royal, she wore her mischiefs like a well-tailored cape. To Margo, rule-breaking wasn’t off limits so long as she found a reasonable cause. So Eliot let her pull him into her little games, pretending he was a part of Margo’s life and not his own. As soon as they slipped past the distracted guard stationed by the stairs winding up a tower, Margo’s courteous smile morphed into a devious grin.

“We’ll have our own ball,” Margo said. She lifted the skirts of her lilac gown and skipped up the steps, soon darting out of Eliot’s sight. “Up there, where we can see past the grounds. Do you think they’ve fixed the sky bridge?”

“ _Wall walk,_ ” Eliot corrected, recalling Rafe’s first lesson as he ran to catch up. Margo turned back, rolled her eyes, stuck out her tongue. “I think so. They didn’t come up here this morning.”

“Just in time for us,” Margo said.

They reached the top of the stairs and opened the door, greeting the wall walk in question. The inner, unshielded side of the wall walk overlooked the castle’s courtyard, but they turned away from it, and instead peeked through the crenels on the outer side that showed them the rest of the Kingdom, mesmerized by the view beyond the magical wards that surrounded Castle Whitespire. 

Outside the transparent wards, past the moat, across the vast plains, were unimaginable arrays of colorful trees. The trees decked themselves sparsely between and behind wooden cabins. This was Westpeak, a humble mining village. As the village ended and the mountains began, the trees grew into a thick gradient halfway up the incline, then grew sparse as they neared the top.

Eliot couldn’t name half the species of the trees, even with all the botany books he could find from the library archives. The land grew and shifted itself based on unpredictable magic, and while the trees couldn’t grow legs and walk, they certainly liked to make themselves look different, down to the color of the leaves in autumn. It wasn’t just red, or yellow, or orange, or murkier shades of green decking the trees. Some leaves shone like opals under the sun, their colors effervescent and impossible to define; others were various shades of pink, but Eliot knew there were other colors out there. In Tick’s village the leaves were a sea of blue, but that was too far, much further than what the crenels could show Eliot as he and Margo looked out.

The view of the Kingdom always surprised Eliot. He thought wards were supposed to shield the most beautiful places and protect them from harm. In his eyes, the world outside was brighter than the castle grounds, though quicker to fade as soon as the leaves began to fall.

Margo crossed her arms and propped herself by the elbows against the thickness of the outer wall. Eliot inched to her, still gazing out, and stood on tip-toes. She chuckled at his predicament, then pointed at the trees. “How come the trees in here don’t change color like that?”

“Inside the wards?” Eliot thought about it. “Irene had spells to keep the trees from growing once they turn green. Said she didn’t wanna see them shed leaves in winter.”

Margo frowned, but if she had anything else to ask, she was keeping it to herself. She pulled away from the crenel, her face lighting up with a new idea. “They must be dancing right about now, downstairs in the throne room.” She turned away from the crenel and stood in the middle of the wall walk. “Wanna try?”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy.” Margo beckoned Eliot over. “I can teach you.”

Eliot turned to face her, joining her in the middle. He looked over the inner side of the wall walk where there wasn’t a barrier. The wall walk was only three stories up from the courtyard, but still, he pulled back from the edge and pursed his lips.

“We’ll be careful,” Margo said. “I’ll lead.”

“Why you?”

“I think the lead is whoever’s taller,” she told him.

That explanation sounded as good as any, so Eliot nodded. Margo held out her hand and gave him a courtesy. Eliot chuckled but responded in kind, copying the motion Rafe once taught to him. There was no music to accompany their dance, but Margo guided Eliot into a slow waltz, turning them in circles, stepping in what appeared to be random patterns.

“How’d you remember all this?” Eliot asked.

“Mom taught me. We used to have lots of dinner parties. Oh, and we had a ball once. But,” she leaned in closer and whispered in his ear, “no one did anything fun. It was all boring. Went on for hours, too. I used to sneak into the backyard. My mom always found me, but she’d stay out with me ‘till the guests were all gone, and she taught me to dance.”

Margo’s smile was both happy and sad. She must have missed her mama as much as Eliot missed his. 

“Is she a good dancer?”

“The best.” Margo spun Eliot around again, looping his arm over his head. He stumbled, and she caught him behind the back, making him giggle. “And an even better magician.”

“What’s her discipline?”

“Dad said she’s a Naturalist. But not the kind that works with flowers. Hers is more… like, rain. Or snow. But only in the little bit of sky on top of us, not the whole world.”

“Wow.”

Eliot stopped dancing and gazed up into Margo’s eyes. He imagined a grown-up version of Margo staring up at the sky, raising her arms in command. Powers like that, powers that make good things happen, those don’t need to be fixed. For all the magic Eliot didn’t once know existed, he had to be stuck with a bad part of it, a curse instead of a gift.

“She would’ve loved it here,” Margo continued. “The pink leaves, not just the green ones you have inside the ward.” 

Eliot nodded and let her keep talking. Margo told him months ago about how her mom had left, and how Margo and her father had waited a whole year for her before they came to Fillory, but her mother had not yet returned. Eliot didn’t know what he could say to Margo as they slowed down, still swaying on the wall walk, wondering what next.

“Let me show you the way my mom used to dance. It was crazy. Crazy _fun_.” Margo took a deep breath and pulled Eliot close, and saved him from having to say anything. “What she liked to do”—she guided him past the first few steps again, stepping left, then back, then right—“is this.”

Without warning, Margo let go of Eliot’s hand and started spinning, once, twice… fast enough for Eliot to lose count. Margo laughed as she drifted further and further away from Eliot, teetering dangerously close to the edge that overlooked the courtyard. He followed her, giggling along, and watched her stick out her arms out as she spun on, the skirt of her gown twirling madly in the air before suddenly dropping as she stumbled over the edge.

She fell.

Then she stopped falling, her scream cut short as a force caught her in time before she could hit the ground.

Margo hovered in midair a few feet above the prickly bushes that lined the courtyard. By instinct, Eliot tilted his head up as he stared at Margo without daring to blink. She soared up in the air as he lifted his chin, soaring back onto the wall walk, before she landed on the ground in front of Eliot and tumbled a few steps forward to regain her balance. Eliot jerked to his side by the same invisible force that pulled Margo up, his small body crashing hard against the outer wall. The rough limestone bricks grazed his skin through his clothes, chafing like sandpaper.

“Margo!”

Eliot’s skin still felt like it was burning as he scrambled forward. Margo pushed herself up and dusted her hands. He expected her to be scared. He expected her to cry. But she only stared at him with wide eyes, before finally muttering, “How?”

Eliot looked up at Margo. “Are you okay?” 

“That was magic.” Margo didn’t answer Eliot, too distracted by her own realization. “El, that was _you_.”

“It’s not me.”

“No one else is here.”

Something was running down Eliot’s nose. Eliot wiped it away with his sleeve and saw that it was blood. His head felt heavy like he could fall asleep. And was the sun always this bright? It was hurting his eyes. 

Margo’s form blocked the sun from his gaze as she took his hand gently and led him back against the outer wall. He sat next to her, wincing at the pain on his back. She turned to face him, concern etched on her face.

“El,” Margo prompted, “are you sure Death is your discipline?”

“What else could it be?” he avoided her eyes. “I’ve killed. Didn’t mean to, but I did it.”

She hummed, thinking. “It was an accident.”

“It was dangerous,” he said. Did it matter whether he meant to kill pa? “ _I’m_ dangerous.”

Margo crossed her arms. She raised her chin and pursed her lips. After a few seconds, she declared, “ _I_ don’t think you’re dangerous. You saved me.”

“That was—”

Eliot stopped. He didn’t know what he did, but he hadn’t known how he’d done it. What if _that_ had been the accident, not the time he killed? “I don’t know what that was. I don’t wanna hurt anyone,” he added. “That’s why Irene let me stay in.”

“Let you?” she insisted.

“Asked me to.”

“She _asked you to_ ,” Margo repeated. Something in her tone changed. She sounded almost angry. “When was the last time she let you out of the grounds?”

Eliot sniffled, then tilted his head up in search of the dome structure of Irene’s ward. He squinted his eyes as the pain in his head dulled down to a mild throbbing. The incantations for the warding spell glimmered faintly in the air as Eliot searched, high beyond his reach, webs of strange alphabets blinking into his view for a second before vanishing once more. 

They had always been there, these incantations. Irene had raised her wards the same day she brought him to Fillory. She said the wards were not there to keep Eliot in, but to keep everyone else away. Because once word of Eliot’s powers got out, the Fillorians would not be kind.

“Irene never lowered her wards,” Eliot said. He looked down again and fiddled with a loose thread on his blazer. “She enchanted it on my first day. It’s an old family spell, one that her dad taught her. The wards are powered by this… this stone, one that no other human can touch. Tick told me it was a blood crystal. It only responds to a McAllister.”

“So she locked you in.”

Eliot felt Margo inching closer as his cheeks grew warm and his ears grew scarlet. Reluctantly he met her eyes, and he was surprised to see she looked sad. No one in Whitespire had ever looked at Eliot without fear. Even Tick, with his overt smiles and his carefully calm voice, couldn’t hide his flinch whenever Eliot brushed too close against him.

“I’m not welcome in this Kingdom,” Eliot said, his voice hushed. “Not like this.”

“How do you know that’s true?”

Eliot scratched the back of his head. He didn’t know anything for sure, though it didn’t occur to him that he was anything but a killer when that deadly surge of power was the only bit of magic he’d seen from himself. But now? What could Eliot make of this? Of saving Margo?

“Irene told me to be careful around you ’cause you might lash out if you were scared. But you’ve never hurt me.” Margo looked around, and, satisfied when she saw no one else approaching, leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “What if she lied to you about what your magic can do?”

“Why would Irene lie?”

Margo didn’t answer, but tutted her tongue, frustrated, and bunched up the chiffon layer of her skirt, creasing the fabric before letting it go. Eliot tapped his fingers uneasily against the limestone bricks. His head was aching again in protest. He leaned his head against Margo’s shoulder and sniffled hard, tasting the tang of his blood burning the back of his throat.

A dozen blackbirds chattered on in the trees by the periphery of the wards. Margo put her arm around Eliot, and Eliot relaxed under her touch and closed his eyes to listen. The birds were talking about a wedding in a nearby village. A Knifemaker had forged a dagger with an obsidian hilt and gifted it as the couple’s ceremonial blade.

“So we know Irene wants to keep you here.” Margo’s voice cut through the silence. “The question is, why? What’s in it for her?”

“She told my mama I could come home when I’m fixed. Said all the other kids got better—the ones she helped before me.”

“Fixing you? How, exactly?”

“Take away my magic?” Eliot shrugged. “I don’t know. Or teach me to control it. Keep it all in so I won’t hurt anyone else.”

“El.” Margo didn’t look convinced. “If she’s really trying to help you, trying her very best… why does she always leave you alone?”

Eliot opened his mouth but closed it again and shook his head. He wasn’t a psychic. He couldn’t read Irene’s mind, but he felt like the answer was close, so close, yet so well-guarded, he didn’t know where to begin to search for the truth. 

* * *

**October 1999**

A month after Eliot saved Margo on the wall walk, he still wondered about his powers. All that he’d learned about magic came from Irene, and Eliot had trusted Irene because she was the only one who had answers from the start, on the day he unleashed his powers in Indiana. But now that Margo had shown Eliot another possibility, he pondered over Irene’s words. He wondered what was left unspoken and why.

It turned out they hadn’t needed to search for the answer at all. It had come to Margo at the crack of dawn one day, and she ran into his room right after the discovery, a cloak haphazardly strewed over her nightgown. Margo shook her head when he opened his mouth to ask questions. “Quick. Before anyone else wakes,” she whispered, eyes darting around the hall. 

No one was up, but in another hour or so, the maid, Eden, would be at Eliot’s door with a fresh set of clothes and a bell to ring and wake him. Eliot and Margo made their way down the spiraling staircase on tip-toes, Eliot’s boots threatening to slip off the heels of his bare feet. In the back garden behind Gallop’s stables, they stopped, and Margo instructed him to wait.

Eliot saw bits of grass pressing down on itself—were these footsteps?—but couldn’t hear any rustling. Margo held Eliot’s hand as he darted his head around, contemplating if he should run. But she gave him a nod, a look. _Trust me._ So he did.

“You need to show yourself to El,” Margo said when the invisible feet stopped on the grass in front of her and Eliot.

Silence. Eliot waited without blinking, his mouth half-open until a woman revealed her form out of thin air. The stark whiteness of her skin made Eliot’s breath hitch, and under the rising sun, she looked almost translucent. Her stiff, lacy robes matched her colorless complexion, tattered but draped over her body with a careful deliberation. The only other color on the woman was gold—she wore a thick gold collar around her neck, placed there like a shackle weighing down her fragile bones. When the woman looked at Eliot, her eyes were apologetic, and whatever intents he had of running melted away.

“This is Skye,” Margo said. “I ran into her down the hall of my chamber. She’s a fairy. She works for Irene—she’s been here for months, but I couldn’t see her ‘till this morning.”

“Why?” Eliot asked, wincing when his voice came out squeaky. He’d read about fairies back on Earth. Mama had let him watch a movie with a fairy named Tinker Bell once when pa wasn’t home. But Skye didn’t look like Tinker Bell. She looked… pale. And tall. And scared. 

“Apparently, we can’t see fairies,” Margo stepped in again. “Skye explained it to me this morning. We can’t see fairies unless we made a deal with them. Or—unless a deal was made…”

“On your behalf,” Skye finished her sentence. Her voice was whispery and sad, and though her pallor made her look centuries old, she sounded… younger. “I wanted to say hello when you first came,” Skye addressed Eliot directly now. “I wanted to reveal myself, but Miss Irene ordered me not to.”

Eliot frowned. Irene, it would appear, had told a lot of people not to do a lot of things. Eliot had once thought it was because she knew better, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I asked Skye if Irene had any secrets.” Margo gave Skye a small smile. “Please,” Margo encouraged, “tell him what you told me.”

“Miss Irene told you she had taken in other children,” Skye said to Eliot. “Those like you with magic that could only destroy. But that’s not true.”

Hearing it in person made the words sink in at last. Eliot tilted his head up and met Skye’s eyes. “What’s not true?”

“All of it. There were no other children; you are the first. And there is no such discipline as Death in human magic. No one’s powers are inherently good or bad. And”—Skye was speaking to both children now, and her next words would change Eliot’s whole future—“Miss Irene never intended for you to heal and return home. That’s not why she chose you.”

Margo stepped closer, her arm brushing against Eliot’s. He stood there, good as frozen, a thousand questions rushing through his mind. 

“What does Irene want with El?” Margo asked in his place.

“She wants him as a weapon.”

“Irene was there,” Eliot told them, surprised to have found his own voice. “She was town that day when I—when my magic showed up. My mama found Irene on the street. Irene said she could help. Had she been in my town the whole time waiting for me?”

Skye shook her head. “Magic in humans are innate, but they lie dormant until they are triggered by something that beckons for greater power. Miss Irene didn’t know about you until that day she found you, Eliot. She had a way to find people, a map that displays new magic taking its form, becoming someone’s discipline. She bought the map at a private auction in Los Angeles three years ago, and she’d been using it as a tracker to search for the strongest magicians, the children she could claim for her own protection. A name appears with a little colored dot on the map and only last a day after someone’s power wakes. It’s long enough for Miss Irene to trace someone down. And your dot,” she turned to Eliot, “was the first red we’ve ever seen, hovering right over New Harmony, Indiana.”

“And what does red stand for?” Margo asked. From her frown, it looked like she already had a suspicion.

“Red means it’s exceptionally powerful.” Skye regarded Eliot with her sad eyes again. “A magician with power that strong can become the strongest protector or the most fearsome enemy, depending on the path they choose. Miss Irene wanted to make sure you were on her side, not fighting against her. She believed you would be of great use to her.”

A fearsome enemy. One who could kill with a jerk of his head and watch the light go out of somebody’s eyes. That was all Eliot believed he was. Saving Margo’s life that day had been an accident, but he’d do it again if he were asked to. It was no accident, but he didn’t know if he could control it the same way if it happened a second time. Understanding he had a choice to be good… it would change everything.

Eliot and Margo faced each other. Margo shook her head, speaking to him without words. _You can be good. You_ are _good. You can’t stay here._

“The McAllisters had been involved in the magic scene in New York for generations. They were ruthless from the beginning. Nothing about that has changed. They’ve made many enemies, and they rely on Beings like us for protection. And my kind,” Skye’s voice grew quieter, “were forced into an unbreakable deal, a bond forged by a task that proved itself impossible to complete. Our Late Queen found a way for most of us to flee, but not all could escape. Those who stayed were made to serve the McAllisters for generations.” 

Skye’s hand moved to the collar around her neck as she spoke. She drew it away immediately when she realized what she was doing, but Eliot already realized what the collar must be: a ward for the fairies, tethered to their very forms. A physical ward bound by something more indestructible than the magic surrounding the grounds of Castle Whitespire. 

“Did she hurt you?” Eliot asked. 

“The real hurt comes from having to do Miss Irene’s biddings.” Skye’s smile couldn’t mask the pain behind her eyes. “I had served Miss Irene since the day she was born. I watched all of her family, but before my eyes, she grew up to be the most dangerous. She was not satisfied with being a mere mortal with limited powers, so she tampered with a side of magic no one else dared—no one except one other person.”

“Who?” Margo asked. She was staring at Skye in horror, bunching up the fabric of her cloak with her fists. 

Eliot was vaguely aware of the sun rising, and he knew that soon, he and Margo would have to hurry back with all the secret he couldn’t tell, and pretend nothing happened. Margo, too, looked at the castle, then turned back to Skye.

“We need to go back soon,” Margo added, “but tell us. Please. We promise to keep it a secret.”

“His name is Everett. And he’s after the same thing. Unlimited powers. Becoming a God. He had taken over another land, the same way Miss Irene had taken over Fillory. They had each taken a magician under their wing, someone whose powers may prove useful to them. Eliot was the first child ever picked. But before Eliot, there was someone else. Someone whose powers are as beautiful as they are dangerous. Her name is Samira Advani.”

“My mom?” Margo said. “No, it can’t be.”

“It was,” Skye said, “until Mira found out the truth.”

“But my dad, why is he working with Irene?”

“I believe he wants to find your mother, too. For his own reasons. I only know what I’d witnessed—if he was involved in the past in any way, I am not aware.”

“What if we find her first?” Margo asked. “The White Lady. We can find her and make a wish. Find my mom,” she said, then looked at Eliot, “and take El home.”

“Miss Irene would never lower her ward. As long as she is within the Castle Grounds, the blood crystal’s powers will hold.”

“Then,” Margo decided, a determined look growing behind her eyes, “we’ll wait until Irene leaves the castle.”


	6. Part Four: Eliot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot sets foot in the dying Kingdom with his friends and his Q. Coming back to face the King may be his worst idea yet, and he has had many terrible ideas.

**Seven Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

It’s dusk by the time Eliot and the Questers arrive on Fillorian grounds. The border isn’t far; a few hours’ walk Eastward in the forest, and they’ll be in the Darkling Woods. The setting sun provides the perfect vibe for their hunt, as does the general monotony of a winter forest landscape, all dark branches and no leaves. 

Something’s missing. It takes Eliot a few minutes to figure out what, and the answer comes when he closes his eyes and tries to listen and finds nothing. The animals, always chattery as far as he remembers, have fallen quiet. It’s the silence that gives Eliot the creeps, more than the fact that he went against every self-preservation instinct of his to come back at all.

Dear fucking Gods, even the air smells depressing.

Midwinter is only a few days away, and right now the snow’s falling at a consistent, non-stop rate of ass-chilling without freeze—too sparse to be considered part of the annual winter disaster, maybe, but this is foreshadowing, definitely the opening act. The literal calm before the… well, you know, storm.

Huffing, Eliot treks through the three-inch-thick layer of snow on the dirt, every so often crunching a dried leaf under his foot. He turns back to look at his bootprints and expects to see blood on the trail, seeping out of the dirt on the ground like the entire land is one open wound. 

“ _Wow,_ ” Quentin whispers.

This isn’t a sarcastic wow, because unlike Eliot, Quentin is experiencing this world with the same unironic awe that he has for every place he’d come across in a fairytale. And despite the heavy pounding of Eliot’s heart, despite the way his hands twitch in anticipation every time a squirrel darts past on a branch, sparks of magic ready at the tip of his fingers, Eliot couldn’t help but smile at the reverent tone of Q’s voice.

“Fillory.” Julia catches up on Quentin’s other side, bouncing in her steps, and beams at her best friend. “Fuck, yes.” 

_Fuck, no,_ Eliot’s mind hisses. The cacodemon wriggles under his skin in agreement.

Eliot keeps up his pace, though, trying to ignore his well-intentioned voice of reason, and continues to lead Q and Jules forward, following the blue spark that lights up the path to the White Lady. Kady and Penny are trailing behind the three of them with much less visible excitement, glancing around with identical frowns—they, at least, share Eliot’s apprehension.

Eliot’s an idiot to return, he knows. Irene’s got eyes and ears everywhere, and even though Eliot had broken free from her eight years ago, he has no doubt the High King is biding her time, waiting to snatch him up and lock him in her dungeons the moment she hears of his return. If anything happens to him now, Charles fucking Darwin would be facepalming in his grave. 

The blue spark pauses in midair as if sensing Eliot’s doubt. The weight of the Key pulls heavily at the cord around his neck, the metal growing warm with anticipation underneath his clothes. Eliot shakes his head slightly and wills the spark to go on searching the track, and calms the cacodemon settled between his shoulder blades. The creature was placed under his and Kady’s skin by Henry Fogg, and now it’s desperate to be set free.

Eliot had been sent on this Quest eight years ago to save the Kingdom, and though he’s not technically the Prince anymore, he feels a sense of duty to the Fillorians. Eliot had only been thirteen when he’d run away, but he wants the Fillorians’ forgiveness for what the Children of Earth had done to this Kingdom. He had been part of the problem. Now he’s got the means to fix it. 

Eliot and his friends are close. Really close. Victoria is on her way to search for someone who might help. Whoever it is, the Questers need all the assistance they can get.

And now—after they’ve been stomping through the trail for what must have been two hours—the wind decides to pick up.

“Storm coming?” Kady’s calm voice jostles Eliot from his melodramatic antiheroic inner monologue. 

Eliot turns and gives her a slight nod. Knowing Kady, she’s not nearly as unfazed as she sounds. She looks straight at Eliot, and he sees the question in her eyes. _Are we close?_

“Storm’s just started, if memory serves,” Eliot confirms, shrugging the backpack off his shoulders. It weighs nothing but makes a loud clatter when it drops against the ground, all the equipment inside falling over one another. “White Lady’s probably hiding away getting her beauty sleep before it all goes to winter hell. Guess we’ll set up camp.”

Penny, Kady, and Julia pitched their tents in no more than three minutes, all two stone gray canopies propped up to perfection, unwavering against the temperamental wind. Julia shoots Quentin a smug look when she finishes, to which Eliot responds with a fake yawn. This little friendly competition had been a constant since the three lovebirds returned from the South Pole six months ago bearing Mayakovsky’s most obscene charms and spells, but at the moment, it’s a welcome distraction. The five of them are at the end of their Quest, and soon, they’ll have a way to destroy the two human magicians striving to become Gods. Save the world or die trying.

The weather shield around their camp is a simple one, a four-handed spell Henry Fogg showed Eliot and Q three months after they became his mentees. Like most wards, this spell keeps the Questers hidden from intruders and dissuade said intruders from crossing by this clearing and walking into one of their tents. But this shield also has the added feature of heat protection. So when Eliot and Q walk up to raise the spell, Penny, Kady, and Julia don’t argue, though an arched eyebrow from Jules makes Eliot roll his eyes in retort. 

Casting spells is a great distraction until Eliot finishes.

Eliot’s thinking about the High King again as he climbs into the tent he’s sharing with his boyfriend. Quentin’s sitting there cross-legged, his beloved copy of Fillory and Further opened across his lap, but he isn’t looking at the book. Q purses his lips as Eliot tries and fails to give him a reassuring smile, the flicker of wonder in his eyes fading.

“You’re thinking about Margo,” Quentin says.

Try as he might, Eliot had never been able to hide his worries from Q. Sometimes Q’s scrutiny makes Eliot’s cheeks flush, but right now it’s comforting. “The White Lady grants wishes to anyone who catches her,” Eliot tells him. 

“Are you gonna wish to find her?”

“I wanna know if Margo’s okay,” Eliot decides. “Maybe not… find her. Yet. I… I don’t know. We haven’t finished what we came here to do. The Quest. Saving the world, or universe, or whatever the fuck Everett could’ve wrecked. Whatever. But if—when—we’re done, I wanna see Margo again.”

Eliot stops there and doesn’t finish the rest of his thought. The wind roars on the outside—that ward of his isn’t soundproof—but he hears the next words clearly in his head. _I want to see Margo again so I know she still remembers me._

How likely would that be?

It’s been fourteen years since Eliot let his friend go. He did it to protect Margo, but now that he has his shit together again? Now the selfish side of Eliot wants to pull Margo back into the mess that is his life. Show her around. Ask her to stay this time. 

Maybe if he finds Margo after Irene and Everett are long dead, it’ll be an adequate mess, and he won’t feel guilty about pulling Margo back in.

“She’ll be happy to hear from you, El. I know she will,” Quentin says quietly. He sets the book aside and decidedly wriggles into his sleeping bag, still watching Eliot from where he’s lying. “Part of the deal of having a best friend is you never stop caring.”

* * *

Eliot wakes at the crack of dawn the next morning to the sound of a branch snapping on a nearby tree, a little whiplash of noise against the still-roaring wind. The snap is followed by a string of curses, then a sizzling shower of red sparks. 

Careful not to wake Quentin, Eliot slips out of the tent and closes the flap. Instead of searching the ground for Kady, he looks up, and sure enough, she’s sitting sideways on a low-hanging branch of an oak at the edge of their camp, leaning against the trunk as she scowls.

“Target practice not working out?”

Kady glares. “I never miss.”

“Could be the magic,” Eliot says. “The whole land’s dying. Her Majesty’s sucking out all the good shit for her own selfish villainy.”

“It’s not the ambient,” Kady insists. “It’s me.”

Oh. Right.

This is the closest Kady has ever come to admitting she needs to talk shit out, and Eliot wants to smack himself for not checking up on her last night before he drifted into a restless sleep. He’s been so stuck in his own ass. But Kady’s probably freaking out about her own wish. 

With a groan, Eliot trudges up to the tree, then stretches his arms out like they’re wings. Kady tuts her tongue, which only makes him smirk. His telekinesis would’ve worked fine if he’d stood still, but where’s the fun in lifting himself if he doesn’t at least pretend to fly? 

Kady’s branch creaks in protest as he settles himself next to her, gradually dropping his weight onto the poor tree.

“Cheater.”

“Just don’t wanna fall and crack my head open,” Eliot quips back, wrapping his arm across Kady’s shoulder. “That’d be a pointless way to go. Wanna talk?”

Eliot waits without turning to face her, and instead stares ahead, gazing through the sparse trees at the endless nothing, the woods stretching miles and miles ahead. There are villages not far from here, tucked seamlessly into the woods along rivers and streams. Quaint little structures in quaint little villages built from the same kind of wood he’s currently sitting on, which get destroyed by the snowstorm each year and patched up again and again by families that can’t afford to give up.

“What if…” Kady breaks the silence—“what if my mom was never here? What if she didn’t come this far?”

Her hand closes around the Compass she’s wearing around her neck, molded from the same brass as Eliot’s Key. 

“Fate is too much of a troll for that.” Eliot nods at the Compass in her hand. “There has to be a connection.”

Maybe Kady’s mother had been a Quester, too. Maybe there had been others looking to end the King and Everett, but they’d all died or disappeared or hidden away, and now Eliot and his fellow Questers were the Kingdom’s last hope. 

“Why us?” Kady meets his eyes, repeating the question they’d been asking since the day Skye found them in New York City and ripped them away from what semblance of a quiet uneventful life they’d tried build. “Why the _fuck_ does it always have to be us?”

“It’s the universe deep-dicking us.” A wry smile tugs at Eliot’s mouth. He faces her. “Lie back and try to enjoy it.”

This is enough to earn Eliot a smack on the shoulder. Kady snorts, exasperated, before looking away. It’s good, though; it means he had cracked her up, and considering what they’re getting themselves into, this is as good a time to dick around as ever. The rest of the Quest, Eliot will take as it comes. He hopes whatever he has to do to kill the almost-Gods won’t kill him, too.

* * *

It’s much harder to keep the ward active when they’re moving, so after some fruitless attempts to raise the whole dome over their heads, Julia pulls a black umbrella out of her purse and opened it, whispering a spell that makes it grow wide and cover all of them before handing it to Penny. Her ward is weaved into the very fabric of the umbrella, the glowing streams of purple spells overlapping across and between the layers of physical matter.

Normally, Eliot would’ve teased Jules for getting rusty. Failing has never been an option for Julia Wicker. It’s rare for her to rely on an object as an aide instead of whipping up something just as impressive from nothing. But considering the likelihood of one or many of them getting blown away into the storm if the ward fails, Eliot keeps his mouth shut. 

They huddle and shuffle forward like penguins underneath the dome of warmth, listening to the uneasy sound of each other’s breaths. Kady and Penny are completely silent, instead lending whatever concentration they have to help power Julia’s improv umbrella-ward; and Quentin, for all his awe about Fillory, is likely beginning to realize the Kingdom isn’t always so kind. Somehow the thought of letting Quentin down makes Eliot worry more than the possibility of running into Irene. 

Eliot turns to look at Q, who reaches for Eliot’s hand without saying a word. Q gives him a questioning frown. Eliot shakes his head and turns forward again, squinting at the path ahead as they approach the edge of the forest. The Darkling Woods is right across the border from the regular part of the forest, and it is exactly as it sounds: always nightfall no matter what time of day, creatures lurking invisibly behind every tree. A few more steps and they should be in. The light is already fading around them. Julia’s spell glows purple still, the lines between the Latin words binding desperately.

“Jules,” Quentin whispers. “Want me to make it invisible? She might hide if she sees.”

“Go for it,” Julia whispers back.

Quentin mutters his own spell, casting rapidly with his fingers, and her ward fades into the black fabric, blending in with the darkness. 

“Your Cock friend didn’t think to give her a memo?” Penny asks, the shiver apparent in his voice. 

“It’s been eight years, Penny,” Eliot says. “The White Lady probably thinks I’m dead.”

Kady draws a quiet, sharp breath. 

Eliot winces at his own ill-timed joke. He gets morbid whenever he’s skittish, and he’s usually good about keeping it to himself, but whatever self-restraint he usually had about this on Earth had apparently vanished.

A rustling in the bushes nearby stops Eliot from muttering an apology. The five Questers turn to each other, their nods barely perceptible between the shadows of the trees. Kady holds up her right palm and shoots at the bush, a clean hit that cleaves a branch in half.

“Fuck,” Eliot hears a voice hiss. 

A white figure—half-human, half-horse, pointed ears like an elf—emerges from the far end of the hedges and begins to trot away. 

Without needing another confirmation, they all make a beeline for her. The umbrella wobbles in Penny’s hand as he jogs and lifts it high over their heads to cover them all in range. Eliot beckons the arrow out of his backpack and lets it hover in front of him, pointing at the White Lady. A second later it shoots forward, zipping past the trees, shifting left and right and left again before burying itself in the target’s neck. 

Bullseye.

The White Lady stops trotting. She turns back and eyes the entourage warily before pulling the arrow out of her skin with one hoof and tossing it aside. They keep walking to catch up to her, afraid she’ll skip out again, but she stands and waits, a look of irritation clear on her face. 

“Ouch,” she says once they close in around her. “Do you mind? This hurts like fuck.”

“Don’t run with your back turned, then.” Eliot stands in front of his friends, and Kady steps up to stand by his side. “We’re here for the Quest.”

The White Lady’s scowl fades, replaced by a curious look. Her skin glows a pale silver, almost pearlescent, and Eliot can see their shadows faintly on the ground as they step closer. So much for invisibility.

Kady takes out the Compass chained around her neck as Eliot pulls out the Key. It is then that Eliot notices how tired the White Lady looks, her prior agitation at their intrusion distracting from the dark gray circles under her eyes—the Fillorians may have suffered the worst of Irene’s blows, but magic grows from this land at the core, and the more Irene hogs to herself, the more the creatures drawing from the same life force run short. 

“The set is complete,” The White Lady says. She fixes her gaze back on Eliot, and he sees something flicker in her eyes. Hope. “Now we know where to find them.”

“Find who?” Kady asks. 

“Ember and Umber, dear Child of Earth. Their Sanctuary was hidden away when High King Irene took over the throne—they knew the King was after their powers. The Compass will point you to them; the Key unlocks their door.”

“That’s it?” Kady again. Eliot doesn’t need light to imagine the furious look on Kady’s face. “You sent Eliot—you sent us—on this Quest to search for your own Gods? Couldn’t you have just… I don’t know, looked around?”

The White Lady, to her credit, doesn’t look fazed. She bows her head slightly. “Ember and Umber is our only hope, and their enchantments are secured by unfathomable magic. The Key and Compass are the only ways to find them, even if we have been standing by their door this whole time. They are the only ones who can restore the Kingdom before it crumbles beneath our feet. So for bringing back the only way to our Protectors, I thank you.”

“So what—” Eliot cuts in, trying to stop the argument from escalating—“if I may—if you know—what happened to the other Questers?”

“My mother,” Kady adds, her shoulders tense.

“Hannah. I remember her.” The White Lady casts a glance downwards at her feet, then turns to the rest of the group. “As you have caught me in your collective efforts, my powers dictate that I grant each of you one wish. But I cannot bring someone back from the grave,” she adds quickly, turning back to Kady, whose expression is inscrutable. “Or make someone fall in love. Or change the past.”

No one speaks, but Eliot knows everyone is looking at Kady. Besides Eliot, she is the first one out of them to know about the Quest, and out of respect for her mother, they had decided she would make the first wish.

“What happened?” Kady says finally. “That’s all I want to know.”

The White Lady doesn’t ask for clarification. When she speaks, her voice is hushed, almost regretful. “She died in the arms of the woman she loved.”

“I know she’s dead. I want to know if she suffered.”

“Per her wishes, Hannah wasn’t buried.” The White Lady bows her head. “Her ashes scattered in the wind and drifted along a river not far from here, the one that divides the forest into two halves. The river sits near the border of a village called Silentspell. That is all I know. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Did _he_ do it?”

“Your mother was killed by the other human seeking for the power of a God,” the White Lady tells them. “A man. Not our High King.”

Everett. The five of them already know he did it, but hearing it confirmed still makes Eliot’s blood run cold. Inside the safety of Julia’s ward, they can’t hear the wind howl, and the White Lady’s words echo in the air, lingering long enough for them to sink. Kady jerks away before Eliot can find her hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Someone else make a wish,” Kady says briskly.

Quentin gives her a sympathetic look before opening his mouth. “I… I know my wish. But it’s not for me.”

At that, Quentin turns to Eliot, and through the faint light of the White Lady’s glow, Eliot sees him smile. 

“Q—” Eliot starts.

“It’s okay, El. I want to.”

“Very well,” the White Lady concurs. “What is your wish?”

“I wish for a way to find Eliot’s friend. Margo Hanson.”

Before Eliot can open his mouth to ask if the White Lady needs more information, the creature cracks her first smile. She blows gently into the air and golden sphere forms in front of Quentin. Quentin gazes at it, eyes wide. Eliot reaches out a hesitant hand and catches it in his palm, feeling it settle weightlessly against his skin.

“I know who she is, Eliot,” the White Lady says in response to his bewildered look. “And fortunate for you all, Margo isn’t far.”

“She’s… here?” Eliot asks. “In Fillory?”

“Margo is in the village of Silentspell waiting out the storm. The village is less than a day’s journey west by foot, shielded by a fairy spell that makes it invisible and impenetrable to outsiders. This golden sphere will light your path until you reach the border of the hidden village. From there, someone from inside the village can invite you all in.”

Margo is here. In Fillory. After all these years, at the same time he’d come back. 

It sounds too good to be true, but Eliot knows it’s the truth. Life has a way of fucking him over. Margo can’t be here by pure coincidence. Maybe she’s been looking for him, too. Or maybe, most likely, she, like Eliot, is searching for a way to take down the High King. A way just as destructive as Eliot’s own.

“Find your friend before the storm ends,” the White Lady advises. “You will be stronger once reunited.”

There goes Eliot’s wish to keep Margo out of the fray. If Margo had already come all this way, she’s already a walking target. The fairy spell is the only thing keeping Irene from finding her. Which means he has to find her, and fast. 

“El?” Julia prompts. “Your wish?”

Eliot gives Jules what he hopes is a convincingly reassuring nod. “You first. And Penny.”

Julia wishes for a way to restore the land after Everett and Irene are gone. The White Lady touches her forehead and provides her with knowledge of a spell. Penny, classic psychic that he is, makes his wish telepathically. The White Lady only smiles and tells Penny it has been done, and he will find it once they return to New York, whatever that is. But whatever mystery lies behind Penny’s secretive wish, Eliot, for once, isn’t in the mood to pry.

The White Lady blinks once, and the purple spells of Julia’s ward are glowing once more like she’s setting them back on their path. She looks at Eliot again. “Now for the Lost Prince. What will your wish be?”

Eliot winces at the title. “I know there’s a Blade in the making somewhere. One powerful enough to kill a God.”

“The Leo Blade. Your friend Margo is searching for it. And for Everett, I fear it may soon be the only weapon capable of eliminating his threat.”

Of course it is.

“The High King, thankfully,” the White Lady adds, “has yet to reach the border of her Ascension.”

This confirms what Eliot fears. And while Eliot and Kady’s cacodemons can buy them some time, they need a final strike. 

Eliot swallows hard and takes a deep breath before he continues, “If Irene hasn’t gone divine, the Blade won’t work on her. But I know she’s protected by other means beyond the limits of human magic. I’ve seen how impossible she is to defeat. So I wish—” Eliot chooses his next words carefully—“for a way to defeat Irene McAllister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re wondering about the close bond between Eliot and Kady—or any of the Questers, really—read on. Backstories contain found family feels.


	7. Slow change may pull us apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady’s family was anything but stable, but what they had was good. A new guardian came into Kady’s life, and she had to decide whether to take another leap of trust.

**March 1998**

The first five years of Kady’s life zipped by in a blur of highway signs and gray tarmac, and hedge witches huddled up in bars pouring over a hand-written spellbook, and even some of the clubs where her mama used to sing at night, blinding the room with the sequins on her polyester gown. Kady remembered the trailer more than the cities she and her mom passed through on the road. Even now she can close her eyes and bring herself right back, trace the outline of the scorch mark on the wall behind the stovetop and count every spot of rust left inside the kitchen sink. 

Kady even remembered the electric kettle that hadn’t been used in months since the wire had snapped when they were stopping by Milwaukee for her mom’s latest gig. But she couldn’t say for the life of her where they were traveling to: all mama said was that they were driving East; that they were searching.

By the time Kady and her mama sold the old home on wheels and driven past the last trailer park she called home, they were in Upstate New York. Hannah Orloff-Diaz had put all her life’s savings into buying an old house, and two nights in, both of them had agreed it felt like too much open space. In trailer parks, Kady and her mama used to be neck-to-neck with other vans, so close Kady could hear the spells they uttered day after day through the thin walls. 

Hannah came the third night after her shift at Jumpin' Jack's and announced that the space could be filled by people, rather than things—the isolation was getting to them both. A week later their house opened its door to two other kids, an always-beaming boy Kady’s age who introduced himself as Todd before he threw his little arm over Kady for a big hug, and a seven-year-old girl, Marina, who eyed the open space with the same scowl Kady had worn days ago when she’d first checked out this place. 

This was more than just strange. Kady and her mama had lived close to people, but never people Kady’s age. But Hannah, for all her trepidations, had warmed up to the two kids immediately, though it had taken Kady a few more weeks to get used to having other kids around. To have mama stay home after sundown instead of leaving Kady with one of her hedge friends after putting her to bed. 

Kady didn’t know if her mama started staying home ‘cause she was tired of her evening gigs or ‘cause of Todd: Marina never made a fuss about things, and nine out of ten things she said, she whispered only to Todd, glaring daggers at Kady whenever she tried to eavesdrop; but Todd woke the whole house six nights a week, crying from nightmares. Each night Hannah would walk over from her pullout couch in the living room and sing him back to sleep, the same tunes they used to blast on the trailer during a long drive up until they broke the cassette tapes. 

“You never stayed when I had bad dreams,” Kady said to Hannah a few days later. She’d brought it up in the morning, early enough that Marina and Todd weren’t up. This was one of the only times she could catch her mama alone. 

Hannah put the dishes back into the sink half-washed and looked across the kitchen island, frowning in the guilt-ridden way Kady had known too well. “Oh, Kady,” Hannah said, quiet enough that the sound of the running water nearly drowned out her voice. “You never told me about ‘em. I never knew.”

“That’s ‘cause I don’t go on whining and whining and _whining_ about it,” Kady grumbled, crossing her arms, “like a baby.”

Hannah pursed her lips and shut down the tap, and took off her rubber gloves. She walked across the kitchen island and picked Kady up from the high stool, lifted and swung her around in the air twice before putting her down like she used to do when Kady was small. The motion made Kady giggle despite herself. 

“Big kids cry all the time, Chickadee.” Hannah set her down and looked her in the eye. “Grown-ups, too. They’re just better at hiding it because they wanna look brave. But you’re still little. You don’t have to be the tough one.”

“But Marina’s tough,” Kady pointed out. “And she’s not big.”

Hannah sighed. “You’ve lived with me all your life, Kady. But some kids didn’t have good people looking after them. So they had to grow up faster. I wanted to take them in to give them some more time to slow down. To let them be kids.”

“To protect them?”

The corners of Hannah’s eyes creased as she smiled and stood up. “Especially that.”

That night Kady knocked on the door to Marina and Todd’s room and asked if they wanted a bedtime story. Marina had rolled her eyes and turned away in her bed, claiming stories were for babies before pulling the blanket all the way over her head. Todd had grinned and moved over in his bed to make space for Kady, fluffing his pillow for them to lean against the headboard. 

The story was _The Cat in the Hat_ , the only picture book they owned besides the ones her mom found in a second-hand shop that Marina had to take to school. Todd listened with wide eyes the whole time, and by the time Hannah finished and Kady followed her out to bid goodnight, even Marina had mumbled goodnight from her bed, clearly having listened the whole time.

Hannah read it to them so many times, Kady could recite every word. Sometimes Hannah would come home with library books to change things up, but most days, Todd demanded _The Cat in the Hat_ anyway. Kady had grown tired of the story but didn’t fight it; Todd had started sleeping through the night now, and even though Hannah hadn’t done any spells as far as Kady could tell, Kady believed the story must have been magic.

Something had changed about their family that night. Marina asked to show them a fire trick the next morning over breakfast, and Todd told them he could make the overhead lights flicker out with one clap of his hands. And Kady became a part of whatever Marina whispered, leaving Hannah shaking her head, tutting her tongue as she complained light-heartedly about the kids leaving her out of their sweet little secrets.

* * *

**December 1999**

The last day Kady spent with her mom had been uneventful up until the evening.

Hannah was out on a grocery run, and Kady had insisted that she came with. Todd and Marina stayed home with Cynthia, one of Hannah’s old friends from the trailer park where they used to live. Cynthia had left when Kady was two, separating herself from the rest of the pack of hedge witches that roamed about the State, searching for the next parking spot to stake out some rich guy’s apartment.

Three blocks away from the house, Kady and Hannah walked by an old-timey nightclub with a cocktail neon sign overhead. The music blasting from the jukebox inside gave Hannah a pause, an old song that would come back to haunt Kady years later when Eliot would sing it to her one sleepless night.

_Won’t you come see about me_

_I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby_

Hannah spaced out for a minute before coming to and ushering Kady away, still frowning. Todd and Marina were watching TV when they came home—they should have been in bed an hour ago, but Hannah hadn’t chided anyone, not them or Cynthia, but only told them to shower up. She said goodnight when they all climbed into bed at last, for once not offering a bedtime story, and Todd, for once, hadn’t asked.

The next morning, Hannah was packed and waiting at the kitchen when the kids came downstairs, and the look in her eyes told Kady she’d be gone longer than they’d hoped. They knew they’d be left with Cynthia until Hannah came back before Hannah opened her mouth, her voice thick as she said she’d see them again, soon.

Kady asked where her mom was going while Todd gave her a hug around the waist, and Marina asked if she could come with. But when Hannah said no, they didn’t press, because the look in her eyes was something new. Something that looked like hope. The look Kady had chosen to remember her by when it was clear, months later, that she may never return.

“I want you to be brave for me, okay?” Hannah said before she walked out. All three of her kids were there, watching as she waved, but Kady knew these words were meant for her.

Two days before Christmas Eve, Cynthia had gone to the post office long after nine-to-five hours for a quick dropoff, only to vanish like Hannah once did. One day before Christmas Eve, Marina had made mac ‘n cheese in the microwave freezer and told them they’d be okay. Marina had almost believed it herself until two social workers knocked on their door on Christmas Eve after a neighbor reported them in and took Kady and her siblings away.

* * *

**April 2001**

In their first home away from Hannah’s, Marina had made them all promise they wouldn’t leave each other, not like the grown-ups had left them. Todd had sworn to it, and Kady shook their hands like she wished it would last. But Kady didn’t give a shit about being okay anymore. All she wanted was to be home, and her siblings were as good of a home as the house they’d once lived under when Hannah was still in their life.

Kady had a feeling the caseworkers didn’t give a shit about her idea of home, anyway. So she told herself not to hope and believed this would make goodbyes easier. She was wrong.

Three months into their next home, this time closer to New Jersey than Upstate where Hannah’s house once was, their caseworker Vanessa paid them another visit. Vanessa spoke to Todd in private, and Marina and Kady waited by the stairs, not looking at each other. Kady had known one day the grown-ups would split them up, and though Marina hadn’t said anything, she knew her sister was fearing the same. 

So when Todd walked out sobbing ten minutes later, they stood up and hugged him before he could open his mouth. A family was looking for a little boy, a brother for their son. Todd shook his head, told Vanessa he wouldn’t go, but Marina turned him around by the shoulder and looked the lady in the eye. “Are they nice?” she asked.

“They seemed lovely. I’ve met with them twice. Visited their house.” To her credit, Vanessa looked apologetic. More so than most of the grown-ups who dealt with them, anyway. “They completed their home study, but as it stands, their financial situation… well, I suppose I could try to petition—”

“It’s okay,” Kady said. Marina gave her a small nod. “It’s too much to ask. I—we understand. But it’ll be good for Todd.”

“But I can ask, can’t I?” Todd turned around, hope blooming in his eyes. “If they’re nice, and if I’m really, really good—”

“If _we’re_ really, really good,” Marina cut in, smiled, lowered herself to Todd’s level, “they’ll let us come visit.”

Before Todd could ask Vanessa if this was true, Kady jumped in. “Just tell us their name.”

“The Hobermans,” Vanessa said. She looked at Todd. “And your new brother, his name is Josh. He’s really excited to meet you.”

“You should talk to him. See the new house,” Marina said. Todd squirmed, but Kady could tell they were wearing down on him. “Maybe they’re nice, and you’d fit right in.”

“I can’t go,” Todd had told the caseworker who’d come to give him the news. “I can’t leave them.”

Kady and Marina stood in the doorway looking at each other. They didn’t need to say the words—they wouldn’t keep Todd here, not when he had a better chance with people who cared. Kady nodded slowly, and Marina returned the nod, then turned back to the caseworker. “You should meet them,” she said gently. “Maybe they’re nice. You might like them.”

“I can ask them to take you too!” Todd suggested.

“It’s a lot to ask to take one kid,” Kady said. “They’re not gonna take three. But you should go. When you have the chance.”

Ten days later, in the midst of a thunderstorm, two vans pulled up in the driveway of their home. Vanessa drove Todd away to his new family, and a new caseworker with a permanently sour look on her face took Kady and Marina the opposite way to their third home. Marina began sobbing halfway through their drive into Bronxville, muffling her cries under the roaring thunder and the droplets against the car that sounded like fists. 

_I want you to be brave_ , Hannah’s voice echoed in Kady’s mind. She reached out in the backseat to hold Marina’s hand, willing herself to hold back her own tears. 

* * *

**July 2003**

For all the things in Kady’s life that didn’t go right, Marina had been a constant. When Kady was eight, their caseworker Vannessa tried to put Marina in a different home in Orange County two hours’ drive from the suburbs of Westchester where Kady would live. But three days later Marina had hitched a ride and found herself at Kady’s doorstep. Twice more, Vanessa tried to move her further away, but Marina always came back. It was as if she wanted to prove something to Kady: that not everyone around her was gonna leave. 

Eventually, a home in Hoboken opened the house for two, and Marina’s caseworker had given in and transferred both of them there. And on Madison Street, a fifteen minutes’ walk from their house, they found themselves a fellow magician in hiding after three stakeouts—Pete, a teenage boy working in the corner store.

By that point, Kady had been in Hoboken for seventeen months. It was the longest time she’d gone without moving. If she had been there longer—twenty months, or twenty-four, make it another full year—she might have entertained the idea of calling this place home. 

On her tenth birthday, Marina insisted on getting her a little something to celebrate. Kady had trudged along as Marina towed her to Pete’s store again, groaning at her sister’s insistence on making a fuss. Secretly, though, she was happy someone remembered. 

Pete peeked up from his copy of _The Batman Adventures: Mad Love_ at the counter when they entered and made a big show of rolling his eyes. Marina sauntered right into the shelf with all the candy. Kady gave him a wave, and he grinned at her.

“Hey, happy birthday, right?” Pete asked.

“Good. You remembered.” Marina emerged from the shelf with a pack of gummy worms, looking triumphant as she tore open the pack without paying. The shop only carried food and a bunch of grown-up crap they couldn’t get without an ID, not ‘till Marina looked old enough to pass, though she was close. At thirteen, Marina was beginning to get cat-called, though she’d flipped the bird on all of the dudes and started little underpants-fires on the ones who couldn’t take the hint. But one thing she never grew out of was her massive sweet tooth.

“Third time this week? Fuck.” Pete put down his book. “You know that’s coming out of my paycheck. Couldn’t you pick some rich dude’s pocket for change?”

Marina put her hand on Kady’s shoulder and walked her over to the counter, then leaned forward and waved the pack of gummy worms tauntingly in front of Pete’s face. “They use credit cards, dumbass. Besides, that’s your discipline.”

Pete shrugged. As a telekinetic, pickpocketing sounded like a decent career option, though Pete said he’d wait ’till he graduated high school before starting on any magical career paths, just in case his mom got nosy. Kady gave Pete an apologetic look, but she knew he wasn’t really pissed. Marina always bullied him into giving her shit for free when they stopped by, and if it was under a dollar, he’d only fuss once. 

“She buy you anything for your birthday?” Pete asked Kady.

“She will.” Marina looked around. “You got any… fuck, I don’t know. Jewelry? We can’t get you booze.”

“What, like costume jewelry?” Pete stood up and walked around the counter. “That’s all we got. No one ever gets that. Or, well, we’ve got a few lockets. I think.”

The lockets in question were by the corner in the back, fully stocked. All of them had the words Best Bitches etched onto them. Some were gold-plated, others silver. A few sets split in half with jagged ridges down the middle.

“What do you think?” Marina asked, reaching for a single silver pendant.

Kady eyed them carefully, then pointed to the set. “That one, so we both have something. You’re not making Pete pay for those, too, are you?”

The lockets were two dollars and forty-nine cents, small potatoes for a lot of kids. But those kids had parents to give them allowances. Kady and Marina had whatever hand-me-downs ended up in their possession, never anything to spend on themselves. 

“I’d never stinge on a birthday present.” Marina grabbed a fistful of change plus one single dollar bill and headed for the counter. “I vacuumed the house last week, remember? Did a little recon for your big day.”

Pete counted out the change. “You’ve got eighty more cents. Could’ve paid me for those gummy worms. Almost.”

“Jesus. Fine. Keep the change.” Marina ripped off the tag and put a locket around Kady’s neck, then patted her cheek. “Welcome to double digits.”

Kady scowled. “What’s so good about double digits?”

Marina put on her own locket and thought about it. “Well, for starters, you’re gonna grow a nice pair of tits.”

Pete guffawed behind the counter. Marina shot him a fuck-off look, then turned back to Kady with a smirk. “You’re cute now, hon, but once you’ve hit puberty, you’re gonna be a catch. Keep a can of pepper spray on hand for the pervs. And a taser.”

“Oh, joy,” Pete chimed in, and Kady agreed. But she smiled at Marina all the same and closed her hand around her half of the locket. It felt to her like a promise.

The bell at the door chimed again, and it was the moment that promise broke.

Everett looked more like a corpse than a man capable of destroying lives. Kady didn’t know the man’s name until much later, but she remembered his impeccable black suit and the hungry look in his eyes as he scanned the room before his gaze landed on her. Pete scrambled to duck under his counter as he fired, but—too late—a jet of green light caught Pete in the chest, and he went stiff and fell to the ground.

“Stay behind me,” Marina ordered, stepping in front of Kady. The fireball between her palms was growing, and when she fired, Kady was sure it would have scorched the man. But he dissipated it with a wave of his hand, wheezing.

Whatever power he had must have been killing him, too.

As he readied himself for another hit, Kady ran forward and swiped her hand across the air in an arc without thought. A clear ripple rose through the air and ebbed toward the suited man, and Kady’s eyes widened when she recognized the telltale sign, the way her muscles burned with the intensity of her casting: battle magic. She hadn’t attempted magic like this in years, not since Hannah left, and back then she’d barely shattered a vase. 

But this time the magic didn’t knock the wind out of her. This time she could breathe, and she was aiming for something more. She was aiming to kill.

It knocked Everett back against the cooler, the cans and bottles of energy drinks rattling inside at the impact. The spell hadn’t managed to kill him, but he slumped to the ground and hissed in pain. Kady didn’t have time to duck as he fired a green jet at her, but it dissolved into wisps inches from her chest like it was unwilling to hurt her.

Kady didn’t have time to ponder it before Marina pulled her back by the hood of her jacket. Marina called out Pete’s name, but he was unconscious, and, after a second’s pause, Marina cursed and grabbed Kady’s arm, nodding at the back door.

They made it halfway across the store before Marina screeched and lost her grip on Kady. A man and a woman stood by the shop’s front door, and they were pulling Marina toward them, hissing a spell on their lips that sounded like a curse. Kady crouched down as they fired again, their spell zipping past her head, singeing a strand of her hair.

“Kady!” Marina shouted, gripping tightly to a shelf full of microwavable mac and cheese as she resisted the pull. “Run!”

“I can’t leave you!”

“Run,” Marina said again. This time she looked afraid, and Kady felt her chest tighten. It was the first time she saw fear in Marina’s eyes. “Please.”

The rest of the escape passed by in a blur. Kady knew she scrambled on all fours and ducked another spell or two before she made it to the storeroom and slid under the trapdoor into the tunnel that opened a block away from her home. The lights were on in the living room when she stopped in front of the front gate, and she swallowed. Dan was home that night. He didn’t like it when the kids came home after dark, even though half the time he wouldn’t even be back in ‘till midnight. Last time she and Marina lost track of time, he’d unscrewed the door off their bedroom for a week while the other kids watched.

Someone tapped Kady on the shoulder. She flinched and turned to see a blonde woman in her early thirties, who raised her hands up in surrender when Kady readied herself for a punch. She began to gesture with her hands, then lowered her arms abruptly and spoke. “My name is Harriet. You’re not safe here. Come with me.”

Harriet wasn’t a caseworker. Kady knew she should yell out for help, but she was still shaking from the fight earlier. The chain of the locket jingled around her neck, and she took in a sharp breath. “My sister,” Kady blurted out. “We’re going back.”

Kady was running again, back to the shop. What the fuck had she been thinking, running away when she was told? She wasn’t thinking. All she had on her mind was _go_.

That was when she heard the explosion.

She stopped again and faced Harriet, who was catching up to her. Her mind told her not to cry in front of a stranger, but—too late—she was sobbing. 

Harriet lowered herself to meet Kady’s eyes. “Where is your sister?”

“Th-the store,” she choked out. “It ex-exploded.”

“Fuck.” Harriet sighed. “I’m deaf,” Harriet explained, pointing to Kady’s mouth. “I can read your lips.”

Kady blinked at Harriet, her heart still pounding. Harriet reached out a hand and gave her an imploring look. Kady’s own hands balled into fists. 

“Show me where,” Harriet said.

Harriet cast another spell, and the air around them rippled before growing still again. Kady gasped. Harriet was a magician, too, and her power felt like a soft touch, a question. And against all instincts screaming no, Kady took her hand and led the way back. 

The store was unrecognizable by the time they turned the last corner. Less than an hour ago it was an old rundown shack with a cheesy neon sign, but now it was charred, and the windows had shattered. Kady and Harriet stepped carefully through the doorway, and the air was clear save for small sparks that hovered around like dust. Kady recognized it instantly: Marina had started the fire with her powers. Marina’s fire was the kind that burned until it could no longer, then vanished without smoke.

The gaunt man in the suit had gone. So had his helpers. So had Marina. 

Harriet gasped as she crouched over the counter, and Kady followed her gaze. A lump formed in her throat as she kneeled on the ground, letting go of Harriet. Pete was lying there on his side, unmoving, cinder coating his hair and skin. Mostly he had been safe from the force of Marina’s flames Harriet checked his pulse and let out a shuddering breath. She looked at Kady. 

“Everett had taken his magic,” Harriet said. She unbuttoned Pete’s polo shirt and pulled down the collar, revealing a glowing green symbol over his chest, sinking deeper into his skin. “As I thought. But the boy is still alive. I have time to untether the magic from him.”

Kady nodded, feeling numb. She didn’t know any healing spells. She didn’t know where Marina was. But she didn’t want to watch Pete die in front of her, so she watched as Harriet cast a series of silent spells, signing rapidly in the air without pause. She didn’t blink or take her eyes off of Pete as a pink aura surrounded him, growing brighter and brighter before blinking out.

Pete’s chest rose as he drew in a strained breath, and Kady swallowed back a sob, relieved.

Harriet turned to Kady again. “We have to leave before he wakes up. He will be safer if he doesn’t know.”

Kady let Harriet pull her up and guide her away. People gathered around the corner, peeking their heads curiously over the broken windows to see what had gone on inside. No one turns as Kady and Harriet brushed past them and walked away. It was like Harriet had turned them invisible.

“I’m Kady,” Kady spoke again twenty minutes later. They were sitting at a bus stop with no one else in sight, visible once more.

“I know.”

She looked at Harriet in surprise. Questions crossed her mind faster than she could catch them, but mostly she was tired. So tired she could sleep for days. Finally, she said, “We need to find Marina.”

“Your sister?” Harriet guessed. “I believe someone already has. She is safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kady, Marina, and Todd as foster siblings make my heart weak. Their love is too powerful, and the world was cruel. Pete deserved none of that. *Sniffs at my own plot twists.*


	8. Part Five: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The height of the snowstorm means nowhere to go. Margo bonds with Fray, and that girl is full of surprises.

**Seven Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

The snowstorm roars continuously over the farmlands, ripping across the grains and fiber crops Josh had spent so long trying to protect for winter. 

Fen tells Margo that winters have been difficult since the first storm she’d encountered when she was seven years old. Margo lets Fen distract her with facts like this, trying to pull her thoughts out from the conversation she had with Gallop this morning at the stables. She should be thinking about the Leo Blade and how to go about asking Fen the truth, but… _Eliot_. Gallop told Margo that El had fled the grounds of Whitespire eight years ago. El had embarked on a Quest. 

For all Margo knows, El is halfway across the fucking galaxy by now. 

By mid-afternoon that day, it looks like half the village and maybe a quarter of the Fillorian population from outside the shield had come in to seek shelter. That, at least, throws Margo into work full-swing and gives her no time to dwell on what if’s. Fen says the number of patrons triple on the night of the storm’s peak, but this year it looks worse. It must be the worst storm yet. The rooms have all been booked.

By dinner time, patrons are volunteering their rooms to share. No one had been asked to, but all of them seems happy to help out. Maybe the whole sharing-is-caring spirit of this village gets to everyone eventually. Meanwhile, Margo helps out in the kitchen, whipping up whatever ingredients Josh is handing her. The kitchen is also the only place in the Inn that’s completely warm if the dozens of open fires rising on the stoves are anything to go by. Josh gives her a sympathetic look but doesn’t have time to talk. She only tells him she’d spoken to Gallop, and El is… safe. Untraceable, maybe, but safe.

Even with most people situated in shared rooms and the rest of the shelter-seekers camping out in various corners of the reception chamber, the sound of chatter makes it impossible for Margo to get a quiet moment to herself. 

During dinner, people come to the table in rotations, served by Margo and two other teenage boys who’ve had at this Inn for five months and work to pay their lodging so they can stay indefinitely. By the third rotation, Margo can barely feel her arms. Margo’s feet carry her into the kitchen and back out like they’re stuck in a muscle memory loop, and if she says anything to anyone during her obligatory small talk with the people at the dining table, well, she doesn’t guarantee it makes any sense. 

After rotation number five, Margo and the other workers sit down to eat, too exhausted to chat except to mumble that the food, albeit bland, is a fucking Godsend, but not literally.

Margo lets the sound of munching fade into the backdrop as she looks around, wondering how the fuck this Inn has stayed up all these years while everything else got blown to shit during the annual storm. She sees Fray crouched up in the corner beneath the stairs, rocking back and forth as she covers her ears. 

The poor girl must be skittish when it comes to noise. She looks like she’s about to take off. As Margo stands and walks over to Fray to guide her back upstairs, the girl darts away. Fray throws open the first door she can find—the door to Margo’s room—and pulls up the window. She climbs over on nimble feet and lands on the other side, uncloaked and possibly barefoot. 

Margo’s already running for the front door. She knows Fray is about to sprint down Haven Way until she gets to the nearest shortcut. And if she gets there, then in the darkness with all the snow flying around, Margo would lose track of her for good. 

As Margo hops and pulls on her borrowed boots, she searches for Fen. When that fails, she finds Dint sitting across the room near the fireplace. The Sheriff, Fray and Fen’s father, pauses in the middle of a conversation with a family of four. 

“Fray ran!” she yells before slipping out the door. “I’ll get her! Tell Fen!”

She’s out before she can hear Dint’s response, already sprinting. Fray’s getting further and further away, her already-small form shrinking under Margo’s view. 

* * *

Ten minutes ago Margo would’ve said she can’t walk another step, but now she barely feels her muscles burning. Vaguely, she remembers she hasn’t put on that cloak Fen loaned her. Her eyes land back on her target, on the small figure zipping past the space between two cottages. The landscape ripples around Margo as she enters the shortcut tunnel that Fray had just squeezed through, and when everything stops spinning, the observation tower is in full view, standing menacingly in the midst of the flurry.

“Fray!” Margo calls out, squinting as she whips her head around to see where the girl had gone. Fuck. Please don’t let it be far. “Wait for me, okay?”

A whimper catches her attention not far off ahead. She runs past the observation tower and pushes through the stalks of crops, walking sideways to avoid getting scratches all over her sweater and apron. Then she sees the round opening, a crossroad that branches off into the different sections of the field for the grains and fibers and oilseed crops. Fray’s sitting at the center of it, rocking back and forth as she hugs her knees to her chest and sobs.

Margo sits cross-legged on the ground not far from Fray. The relief that washes over Margo is quickly replaced by the lessons she thought she’d forgotten—the same three rules she once used with El when they were seven. One, calm her own ass first. Two, no touching until they stop shaking. Three, keep talking.

What could have happened to Fray that made her so scared?

“It gets like this every year, doesn’t it?” Margo asks in a low, calm voice, not expecting Fray to lift her head up from where it’s buried behind her knees. “Before the biggest storm? All these random strangers inviting themselves into your fucking house, hauling all their shit like they’re moving in for a month or something?”

The sobbing turns quiet, replaced by hard sniffles and shuddering breaths. Margo continues, “And they’re all screaming across the lobby like that’ll help them hear anything over everyone else’s screaming. You’d think they’d know to shut the hell up and give us some peace. But nope. Apparently, they have to panic out loud, like they’re trying to annoy the fucking wind right out of this village.”

Fray lifts up her head then and cracks a wry smile. Margo has a feeling Fen would never speak about her patrons this way, but Margo’s not an infuriating warm-and-cuddly Innkeep who’d made it her life’s mission to make the rest of her world happy. And maybe she’s closer to what Fray needs right now. 

“You know, I think the rest of us workers are hiding out in the kitchen for the rest of the evening,” Margo continues. She’s holding out a hand now, an invitation. “And we’re pretty much half-dead from all the chores, so we won’t make a peep. And it’s the warmest place in the whole house. You’re welcome to join us for the night—I think Josh put out a sleeping bag right by the fucking stove. Smart guy.”

It’s the first time Margo hears Fray giggle, and the sound makes her heart warm just as the adrenaline of her chase is wearing off and she’s realizing how fucking cold it is out here without her fucking cloak. But she tells herself not to shiver. Fray is watching Margo’s hand warily, but she’s not shuffling away. And that means Margo only needs one last thing to talk her into going back. 

“I believe we have a few of Josh’s chocolate pies left over.”

Fray finally takes her hand. Her little fingers are just as cold as Margo’s. Margo stands up and pulls Fray to her feet, wrapping her own hand over Fray's. As they stand there trying to figure out which way they’d come, Margo feels a burst of energy rushing out of Fray’s hand and into her own, and the world around her fades. _She’s seven years old, watching the pink autumn leaves over the mountains to the West. El stands beside her on the wall walk, peering out of a crenel as his eyes widen._

Fray’s little hand pull free from Margo’s grip, and she’s back in the midst of a storm, only she’s twenty-two again, and Fray is tilting her head, frowning. Margo finds herself doing the same. She knows magic when she sees it. Fray is a magician. A psychic. 

“That boy,” Margo explains, already turning away, leading them back down the path to the shortcut, “he was a friend. I haven’t seen him since I was a child.”

Fray catches up to her and gives her a small nod, understanding but not accusatory. Would she recognize Whitespire? Would she know Margo had been Fillory once, judging by the look of the clothes she and El wore back then? Would she know Margo lied about who she was?

“That was one of my last memories with him,” Margo continues, trying not to let her worry show. “He’s the friend I’m trying to find.”

Fray offers her hand this time, and Margo takes it, careful to raise the ward around her mind now that she knows what Fray can do. If Fray notices, she doesn’t react. She only squeezes Margo’s hand once like she’s trying to comfort her. Then she points to the opposite direction towards the observation tower, and Margo understands what she’s communicating—that’s where the river will be, right outside the shielded border of this village. She’s asking if Margo plans to go back out there and find him—or maybe she’s telling her that’ll be her best chance to track him down.

“I need information first,” Margo decides to say. “Maybe some of the new guests from today might’ve seen him. And I should probably wait out the storm.”

Fray shrugs and guides her through the farmland, back down the tunnel. They’re greeted by the familiar street that Fray calls home. Fen is running down Haven Way, shouting something Margo can’t hear over the wind. She stops running when she sees Fray and holds out her arms. Fray sprints over and engulfs herself into the hug.

“Josh has hot cocoas in the kitchen for you two,” Fen says, ruffling Fray’s hair before letting her go. “Please get inside before you both catch your deaths.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Margo says.

Fen tuts her tongue, exasperated at Margo’s apparent lack of care for her own wellness, but as Fray breaks into another run, this time toward the Inn instead of away, Fen leads Margo back with a beckon of her hand, and says, “Thank you, Margo. Thank you so much.”

Margo looks away. “Don’t mention it."

* * *

The famous Hoberman hot cocoa might as well be a mug of underwhelming chamomile tea. Margo’s taste buds are all fucked up, or maybe she doesn’t care enough to tell the difference as long as it’s warm, which it certainly is. Josh fusses over her even more than Fen and insists she puts on _his_ cloak even though she argues it’s unnecessary in a hot kitchen. He drapes it over her anyway, and she admits to herself that it doesn’t hurt to be warmer.

When Margo’s finally able to feel her limbs, she’s ready to sleep for a whole day and a half. So after a quick mumbled “goodnight” to Josh and the other workers sprawled out across the kitchen floor with piles of blankets, she gets back into the reception chamber, side-stepping the patrons snoring their heads off on the carpet, and heads for her room in the back. Dint is awake and sitting by the fire. When Margo gives him a small wave, he nods and mouthes _thank you_. 

Tonight, Margo has earned the Sheriff’s trust without consciously trying to cover for her lies. Ironically, tonight was also the closest she’d come to exposing her whole truth. But Fray hasn’t looked angry or suspicious about what she’d seen. It seems the girl had decided to keep Margo’s little secret for now.


	9. Giving me everything inside and out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot escaped from Whitespire and embarked on a Quest to find Quentin Coldwater. But first—books!

** April 2006 **

Irene kept a close watch on Eliot after Margo had gone back to Earth with her father. And by a close watch, he meant she never left the castle grounds again and instead hired others to run her errands, various members of the McAllister family that would appear in the Kingdom for a short stay before leaving. The wards would have destroyed Eliot if he dared to step out, but otherwise, Irene was in her study most days, tampering away. 

So whatever else sucked about Eliot’s life, he, at least, had the chance to sneak out and see Gallop every few days. He never stayed long in case anyone got suspicious, but Skye looked out for him, too. To make matters a smidge less shitty, Tick had gotten less skittish around Eliot, probably because he felt bad for Eliot. The pity would’ve made Eliot feel ashamed if it weren’t for the perk of having someone to talk to.

That all changed when Eliot was eleven. One morning, instead of the library where Rafe would normally be waiting, Tick led Eliot down the stairs, all the way down. Tick gave Eliot sorrowful looks the whole way, but Eliot shrugged it off. Irene was waiting for him in what appeared to be the dungeons. At least the cells were all empty; hardly anyone dared to cross this part of land after hearing rumors about the King seeking to drain the land of all magic, which were closer to the truth than Eliot liked to remind himself.

On that day, Irene struck him with her spells for the first time. He ran until he couldn’t anymore, until he screamed in anger and pushed back, feeling the ground rumble beneath his feet. For the weeks after, Irene would try to force the magic out of him, deflecting his attacks until she couldn’t in time. After being forced into a duel for days on end, he stopped caring. Maybe if he hurt her enough to make her stop, he could find his own way home.

The closest he came to defeating her happened when she brought him into a cell with a prisoner inside. He was a local, a Fillorian, caught trying to sneak into the castle. Irene asked Eliot to break his bones until he talked, and Eliot turned at the last second and tried to break hers, lifting her into the air and smashing her into the corner of the wall. He heard the sickening crunch—maybe a broken rib, a dislocated shoulder?—but whatever he’d broken, he didn’t have time to see; he was struck in the chest in return, some spell that coursed through his limbs and left him unable to see or move.

When Eliot came to, he was up in the North Tower, finally renovated and ready for its first prisoner. His room was under lock and key, a ward inside a ward. There was no venturing around the castle grounds—what little freedom Eliot had before, he had taken for granted. And the worst part was, he didn’t feel good for hurting Irene. Because the High King deserved every broken bone, but to be responsible for trying to take her out meant becoming the monster in her lies, the ruthless killer Eliot feared to become.

The only way Eliot could be free of this fate was to escape. So that’s what he tried to do—forced his magic into the cracks between the limestones on the walls, trying to make them cave. He spent months hacking and punching and kicking away, but all he did was chisel the surface. The window was no better—whatever glass it was, it held, though the frame was beginning to give way. 

One morning another idea struck Eliot, a failsafe, magic-free plan in case he couldn’t break the window in time. He pocketed a butter knife from a breakfast tray the fairies delivered through the tiny slot on his door, and spent weeks sharpening it to a fine tip. But the lock could only be picked from the outside. And for once life had taken a break from fucking him over, and Skye showed up at his door.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered.

He slid the knife under the slot. She picked the lock, and the door clicked open, and he held his breath. “But the wards?”

“The crystal is activated by human blood.” Skye looked down at her hands. “And fairy blood is magical in itself. The wards will drop once the crystal is tainted.”

“It’s in her study.”

“I’ll speak to Tick. Perhaps he could distract the King long enough for me to break in.”

“No!” Eliot said quickly. 

Skye shook her head. “This cannot last. The land will not survive two decades if the King continues to drain magic from it. You’re our only hope.”

There was every chance Skye and Tick would be caught, two more lives that Eliot ruined beyond hope. But the window may be fixed if Irene noticed anything amiss, bolted shut with reinforced steel more from the outside. And a possibility of escape was far better than waiting until Irene came up with new ways to weaponize him. 

At nightfall, Eliot peered out the window at the glimmers of spells across the sky. He watched with bated breath until it flickered out. And he ran.

Eliot reached the stables this way, cursing every time his step echoed too loudly or a twig crunched beneath his feet. Gallop was awake when he approached, trying to catch his breath. The horse watched without comment and waited for Eliot to speak.

“How do I get to the Darkling Woods?”

“It would be a week’s journey on foot.” Gallop shook his head. “Your best chance is to ride on my back, Prince Eliot. My speed is unmatched by the other royal steeds.”

The title made Eliot wince. “But—”

“Prince Eliot. Now is not the time for formalities. Let me assist, so that you will reach the White Lady safe from pursuit.”

Eliot leaned closer to the stable door so he couldn’t see the silhouette of the Castle anymore. “Just Eliot, please.”

“Eliot.” There was a hint of amusement in Gallop’s voice. “I would like to offer you a ride to the Darkling Woods. I want to see that you are safe.”

Someone was calling from one of the towers. Reporting that the Prince had run? Or perhaps they’d seen Eliot standing by the stables. Soon, Irene would have found Skye tampering with the shield, and this would all be for nothing. 

Fuck it.

Eliot pushed open the stable door and grabbed the saddle hanging on the nearby hook. And once he settled into his seat, Gallop soared off into the woods, cutting through the air just before the trees where Irene’s shield normally would have been.

By the time a group of guards were out searching for the Lost Prince, Gallop had run past the canopy of trees in the forest and taken Eliot into the heart of the Darkling Woods. The voidish eternal night swallowed his entire form so Eliot looked like he was riding on air. Gallop was picking up speed, coursing through the narrow space between trees with no sign of stumbling. They hadn’t spoken at all since they escaped from the castle grounds, but Eliot heard him mumbling and felt him shake his head, his mane shuffling left and right.

“What’s wrong?” Eliot asked.

“It would appear the White Lady is not around. Perhaps she had traveled North after being caught by countless humans.”

Eliot felt like the wind was knocked out from his lung. Fuck. “I see.”

“But I know who does not roam far from this part of the Darkling Woods. Another Questing Beast—the Great Cock.”

“That’s the one who gives Quests?”

“It is.”

Eliot sighed. He knew his escape had been too easy. A wish would have been the easy way out, and life had always managed to find new ways to give him a fuck-you. But a Quest would be better than straying in the dark with the risk of the search party finding his trail. 

“Alright,” Eliot said. “Fuck it. I’ll go on a Quest.”

As quietly and gently as Eliot could, he dismounted, avoiding the loose branches. Together, they searched the rest of the way. There were hedges in this area of the Darkling Woods, wedged between hauntingly tall and scraggly trees he couldn’t name. Behind the dozenth hedge Eliot peeked through, there was a rustling sound, then the feathers of a very bright tail peeking out over the top. Purple peacock feathers.

Then he saw the halo of a blue, magical glow.

It was time.

Gallop stopped beside him and gave him a nudge on the back. Eliot turned back and stroke Gallop’s name, and let out a quiet sob.

“Go on,” Gallop whispered.

Eliot stroke his mane and leaned his head against Gallop’s neck, trying to take it all in. Through all the years he spent locked up in the castle except three—one when Margo was here, two more when he was locked up in that tower—Gallop had been the only friend who listened to his darkest secrets and accepted him all the same.

“Where will you go?” Eliot asked. “They’ll be looking for you at the Castle. Irene would recognize you if you tried to go back.”

“Then I shall not return. I was contemplating heading Eastward. One of the villages by the ports that look out to the sea, perhaps.”

“I’m sorry.”

The guilt made Eliot’s stomach drop. Whitespire was the only place in Fillory that Gallop called home, and now Eliot was on his own Quest, and he left Gallop with nothing. Did he force Gallop out of his home in order to run further away?

“It was my decision to assist you on your journey. Just as much as it was my decision to stay at the Whitespire stables for all these years. You do not have to apologize.”

Eliot swallowed, but nodded, hoping Gallop could see. “I hope you find a new home. A much better home.”

“I hope one day we meet again,” Gallop said. “Young Eliot.”

The new title made Eliot smile as another tear ran down his cheek. He wiped it away on his sleeve and asked himself to be brave. “When I’m older,” Eliot promised, “when the King poses no more threat to me, I’ll come back to find you.”

Before Eliot walked through to where the Great Cock awaited, he gave Gallop one last nod of thanks. And although the halo was dim, and the night endless, Eliot could see the light glinting off of Gallop’s raven black mane as the noble steed lowered his head in return, and gave the No-Longer-Prince a bow.

* * *

** April 2006 **

The Great Cock’s Quest was as simple as it was impossible, and the irony of it would have made Eliot laugh if he weren’t so scared to be heard. After all these years, he was asked to return to Earth with a clunky bronze Key around his neck. He had to find the matching Compass so he could use the artifacts to find the Gods of Fillory.

No pressure at all.

There was one more stop before he was destined to find his way home, and it had to be a Library, of all places. Eliot landed in the middle of three fountains with a loud thump. He winced before he willed himself to calm. Fillory was long gone. He was in the Neitherlands. It would be some time before he had to worry about being caught. And this place was secluded without a shadow of a person in sight, as creepy as it was comforting.

Now he had to seek out the story of a boy named Quentin Coldwater.

Eliot had made it very clear—thrice, in fact—that this Quest sounded like something he might really fuck up. But the Cock had insisted, and seeing as he was Eliot's ticket out of Fillory, Eliot had grudgingly accepted his fate as a Quester, hoping he'd have a few years before his final fuckover to enjoy being alive, or whatever the Earth or this Quentin boy had to offer. He hadn't expected much, but after Whitespire, he hadn’t many options.

Another thump behind him made him jump. He stared into the face of a tall woman wearing cat-eye glasses and a full gray suit. “Eliot Waugh. Just in time.” 

Her voice sounded automated, but there was a slight quiver of something longing and nostalgic. The smile on her lips was rigid like she had to remember how to smile.

“I’m looking for the Library,” Eliot said.

She gestured to a fountain down the lane, one that was shielded over unlike the others with gushing water inside. “My name is Zelda. I am fated to escort you. Right this way.”

The Library was another isolated structure with gray walls and empty chambers. But after spending a week getting fitted into tailored button-ups and vests and polished leather shoes, Eliot felt safe here. Whether that was because Eliot now lived underground, or because the Librarians didn’t flinch when Eliot walked past them, he wasn’t going to question his odd sense of belonging. 

And Zelda, who had seemed so prototypical of a Librarian at first, warmed up to Eliot sooner than all the others. She had set up his room with a brown teddy bear by his pillow side that looked like it had been delicately washed and once used. But Zelda didn’t say anything when she saw him holding the bear later that day, and nothing in her prim expression gave away what a child’s toy could mean to her, so he didn’t ask. He had learned long ago to let secrets stay secrets until the time was right.

* * *

** May 2006 **

On his eighth day, Zelda knocked on his door and handed him Quentin’s book. It was light in his hands, and it felt wrong. 

“The book expands once you start reading,” Zelda said. He got the distinct impression that she was either a psychic, or very, _very_ observant. “There are a few thousand pages—the boy hasn’t grown into his life just yet. That’s why we revise the biographies as time goes on. But as of now Quentin is thirteen.”

“Do these books predict the future?”

Zelda opened her mouth, closed it again, frowned, then said, “Sometimes. Fate is much too complicated to depict in full accuracy, but whatever changes take place will be revised. As of now,” she gestured to the book in Eliot’s hands, “this is what will happen in Quentin’s life. You will find yourself on page twenty-nineteen.”

“I…” Eliot held the book in one hand and scratched his head with the other. His hair was left in full messy curls unlike the rest of him—the Librarians who tried to tame it with gel on his second day admitted defeat. “I don’t know if I can finish.”

“You have a year before you are due in Manhattan, New York City.”

“Thing is,” he let out a chuckle, embarrassed, “I can’t read.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Rafe had taught him how to write his own name, and the alphabet, and how to piece it all together. But most of what Eliot retained, he got from listening to the tutor. Books had never been easy to tackle. Words shifted on the page when he tried to make sense of them, and eventually Rafe adjusted his lessons based on how Eliot learned best. It worked until Irene stopped pretending she cared about his education altogether. Until he was locked up in the tower with only his own thoughts as company.

“I see.” Zelda pursed her lips. A few seconds later, she brightened. “I can assign someone to help you. I believe her methods would be most suited to your needs. Wait here after breakfast. She will come find you.”

When the woman in question knocked on his door, he trudged over and pulled it open, dreading being forced to read. Then he looked up, and all worries about books vanished instantly. She was familiar. But why?

“Eliot?” she asked. Her voice gave away her own surprise. “My name is Mira. Zelda instructed me to assist you.”

“I know who you are,” he said, clutching Quentin’s book tight in his hands. 

Mira was wearing a perfectly tailored suit that looked like a costume. Her freckled cheeks looked like they missed the sun, and her curly hair tumbled down her back without restraint. And her smile didn’t reach her eyes, though her gaze was sharp and undaunted. Margo’s mother was everything he expected from what Margo told him… except for the fact that she would be part of his story.

But surprise aside, Mira was a great teacher. She hadn’t forced him to read like he’d expected. Instead, she showed him how to listen, to perfect the spell that let the book read itself out loud so the words could sink in. That night Eliot fell asleep to the story of Quentin’s life on Earth, immersing himself in a world that was once his before it wasn’t. Quentin Coldwater had the magical spark, too, though it remained dormant, yet to be woken. Quentin would have been lonely if his friend Julia hadn’t been born magical as well, and even lonelier if he hadn’t found a book about Fillory when he was seven years old, a beautiful leather-bound copy waiting at the bottom of his backpack where it hadn’t been that morning. The only copy on Earth, well-loved and always cherished between two best friends.

Eliot dreamed that Julia spoke to him and asked him to teach her magic. Quentin was beside her, eagerly watching Eliot. (Or perhaps he was watching Julia, who he had a crush on, and Eliot felt guilty for knowing so much.) The three of them were in Quentin’s house in Brooklyn with mismatched furniture in his kitchen that his parents had acquired from various relatives throughout the years—all the details from the biography by the teddy bear next to his pillow. Eliot told Quentin and Julia all his magic could do was hurt. And Julia shifted into Margo before his eyes, and Margo told him he was wrong: he was many things, but never dangerous. 

He woke before he could tell Margo he missed her.

* * *

** May 2006 **

When Mira came by his room the next day, she asked if he was okay, and he didn’t tell her about his dream. Nonetheless, she offered to take him on a walk around the Library and show him the revision room on the West Wing, the only part of the Library under another set of locks and keys. Zelda had agreed reluctantly but told Eliot not to touch anything, and he walked through the Wing with his hands in his pockets. 

Mira told him a quarter of the biographies were never revised. Twenty-five percent of all humans who ever lived were predestined to carry out their lives based on the initial plans, and Eliot wasn’t sure whether to feel envious of or feel bad for them. But the rest were messier: a quarter had given the Librarians enough trouble that they groaned every time they recognized the covers back in their carts; the other fifty percent was more understated in how much their lives had changed, no more than a dozen revisions, enough that their covers would go mostly unrecognized. 

Eliot winced, imagining how many shelves, how many levels, these books would fill. Twelve life-changing moments didn’t sound too drastic, but to know there were billions of them made his head hurt. 

“What about mine?” he asked. “Do you happen to know?”

Mira looked hesitant, but nodded, tapping a nervous finger against her badge. “Normally, no; we don’t remember most of the covers. But yours… your name stood out to me. I remember yours. I saw it not long after I first arrived.”

When he was seven. Not long after Margo left Fillory. The plan had been set in motion, then; way earlier than Eliot knew. 

“It had many, many pages,” Mira continued when he didn’t speak. She gave him a smile, this time a smile that showed her dimples. “I didn’t read through it all, but it looked promising.”

They walked through the revision room and headed back to Zelda’s study to report the excursion had finished. As the halls grew quiet once again, he asked, “Did you ever read anyone’s? Their book, I mean.”

“Just one.”

“Margo’s?”

She shook her head and met his eyes. He wanted to apologize, but she wasn’t angry. “Her name was Hannah. Hannah Orloff-Diaz.”

“You loved her,” Eliot realized. He kept his voice quiet so not even the walls could hear. The secret, the realization, was as fragile as the silence. 

Her nod was slight but certain. “I lost her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” Mira touched his shoulder.

“If you wanna talk about it…” Eliot trailed off. He had a conversation like this with Margo years ago. And now he was on the other side of the story. 

Mira parted her mouth, her lips quivering like she was trying not to cry. “She was a battle magician, the strongest I’ve seen. I’ve loved her since the day I watched her cast a shield through the mirror I was scrying on. That’s all she ever wanted—to protect the people she loved.”

“Did she get hurt?”

“More than just hurt.” Mira’s words cut sharply across the air. “Everett took her magic. Left her to die. I couldn’t stop it.”

Her voice cracked. Eliot moved closer and pulled her into a hug, feeling her chin propped against the top of his head. Skye had told him about Everett behind the stables not long after he and Margo found out the truth about Irene. It was unsettling how close his life was intertwined with the lives of two people who could destroy the world and not bat an eye. Why him?

They didn’t speak for some time, but he stayed until he felt her breaths calm before he pulled away. “That’s why you’ve been waiting here?” he asked. “To make him pay?”

“No vengeance can bring Hannah back. I’m here because I want to stop Everett—this is the only place he can’t enter. I need to wait for a weapon. The only thing capable of destroying him. I can’t go back to Margo because he’s on Earth, searching for a way to find a God. I don’t want to give him a reason to hurt my child. Margo is all I have left.”

“I dreamed about Margo last night,” Eliot said. “I miss her.”

Eliot hadn’t wanted to bring Margo up, thinking it might hurt Mira, but memories didn’t always hurt. Sometimes they were the only things that felt good. This was one of those times.

Zelda wasn’t in her study when they approached, but she hung up a sign saying she would be back soon and left the door open. Inside Zelda’s study was a body-length mirror. Mira instructed him to walk closer. “Do you wish to see her again?

He considered saying no; it felt wrong to spy on Margo, the same reason he’d decided not to try and find her book. But he was selfish in the end. He nodded.

Mira showed him a memory she’d stored, or a vision, or something. Something about Margo’s life that she didn’t know anyone else could see. She tapped the glass with her eyes closed. It took only a thought to bring the scene to life: Margo gliding across the ice rink on her skates, eyes fixed toward wherever her path leads instead of the audience watching. Her skirt twirled alongside her as she spun, the sparkles on the tight purple spandex glimmering like a spell. Margo didn’t look like a child anymore, but she hadn’t grown into her older self entirely.

“You think she remembers me?” Eliot asked.

“The Margo I knew doesn’t ever forget what’s important.” Mira let the scene fade.

Eliot stared at his own reflection in the mirror, scowling at the roundness in his cheeks that still made him look like a child. “This feels… wrong.”

Mira nodded. “Margo was twelve here. It was the last time I tried scrying—it’s been hard to see her grow up without me, but I don’t want to keep watching her when she can’t see me in return. I held on to this because she looked happy. That’s how I want to remember her. That’s how I hope she always can be.”

In less than a year, Eliot would be destined to go down to Earth and find Quentin. His book hadn’t updated beyond his first day in Manhattan, and the Great Cock hadn’t mentioned Margo as one of the Questers. Did this mean he wasn’t supposed to search for Margo yet?

_She looked happy,_ his thought echoed Mira’s.

Eliot had waited seven years to see Margo again, this time having fled the Castle by himself. He’d grown stronger, but the Quest had every potential to break the limit he’d built all these years when he was locked up and biding his time. It would not be safe for anyone involved. He felt bad enough to find Q as he was, but at least for Quentin and Julia, it would be destiny. Margo’s part in the Quest would be his choice, and anything that happened would be his fault.

For Margo’s sake, Eliot could wait seven years more.

* * *

**April 2007**

Eliot was prepared for being back on Earth, but he wasn’t prepared for feeling like an intruder in the world he used to call home. As he leaned against the wheelchair ramp by the back entrance of the METS museum, all he could think was how different New York City had felt to the place he'd spent the past month reading about. Wasn’t it ridiculous that books could tell him so much, yet so little at the same time?

Not that it was a _bad_ difference. He simply wished he looked less like an idiot from the very beginning, but that was a lost cause once he had dropped his way into this overcrowded island from midair earlier that day. He’d fallen on his ass in a tailored Librarian suit after crashing through the Earth fountain. Luckily he’d landed in a back alley with no one around, and once he got away from the dumpsters and into the street, he knew where to go.

Quentin’s school was on a field trip. Julia came along with the rest of their class, but today Eliot would meet the boy alone. They were here to see _Elementary Perspective_ , a special exhibit on postmodernism with paintings by Mortimer Ferenc. The school kids would be on the third floor for hours, browsing through paintings of trippy landscapes. But Quentin didn’t like crowds. He hadn’t since he was a small boy, and when he got older, it was worse. All the chatters and the tour guide’s microphone and the stuffy carpet smell would be too much. Soon, Quentin would slip through the back door, desperate for some time alone.

Eliot was fated to interrupt his moment of peace, but still, he felt bad.

The door opened, and Eliot turned, and Quentin was there like the book said he’d be, wearing jeans and a gray hoodie, hands in his pockets. He was a scrawny kid who hadn’t fully grown into himself, but seeing him in person made Eliot smile nonetheless. Quentin didn’t notice Eliot standing by the wheelchair ramp. Instead, he leaned against the side wall by the exit and played with the zipper on his hoodie. 

Eliot watched him until he couldn’t justify staring like a creep anymore, and he walked closer, clearing his throat. Quentin started. Eliot raised his hands in surrender, a peace offering. He saw Quentin relax, as anticipated. ( _“Quentin was intrigued by the strange boy,”_ his book read. _“He couldn’t tell how old the boy was, only that he knew much more than he gave away. The boy’s eyes spoke of an excitement much like the way Quentin had once felt when he discovered Fillory, but at the same time, it was clear the boy needed a friend.”_ )

“You’re here to see Ferenc?” Eliot asked, nodding at the flyer on the door. “I read about the guy. Hasn’t been sober since his 20’s, but that’s not really a surprise, is it? I mean, look at the stuff he made. Weird guy. Did you know he collected stuffed pigeons?”

Quentin listened to him with his mouth wide open. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what he could possibly say, so he settled for, “Who _are_ you?”

“I’m Eliot.” Eliot’s voice grew louder, and he lifted his chin. He knew the next part—he’d spent days reciting it so he could get it just right. “And you’re Quentin Coldwater. Yes, I know your name. I also know Mrs. Brynn’s starting to wonder where you are. Julia’s starting to worry.”

“I—what?”

“Tomorrow. Three o’clock. Central Park Carousel. I’ll explain everything. You can bring a friend.” Eliot flashed him a smug grin. “I’d get back inside now, if I were you.”

Before Quentin could say anything else, or stop him, or—Gods forbid, catch him—Eliot ran off. Three blocks later, he stopped. He’d spent all this time studying the city and Quentin, especially Quentin, but he hadn’t wanted to touch his own book. Zelda had told him it was best not to in case he ended up overthinking his own life and changing his fate. But… now what?

His answer came in the form of a small figure in a khaki green hoodie who grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the nearest alley. Eliot didn’t even have time to scream. The figure lowered their hood before he could debate calling out for help, and he was glad he didn’t. It was a small girl with black curly hair and green eyes, not at all murderous, though she had a really, _really_ strong grip. 

“Eliot, right?” She surveyed him, glancing up and down and cringing at his Librarian suit. “Got the Key?”

Now Eliot knew how Quentin must have felt. “What?”

“ _The Key_ ,” she insisted, glowering now.

Reluctantly, he pulled it out from his shirt and dropped it back in when she nodded, satisfied. She pulled out a charm necklace from her pocket and tossed it to him. “Put this on.”

He caught it. “Who are you?”

“It’s an illusion charm.” She looked at the necklace.

Eliot rolled his eyes but obliged. He saw no difference in how he looked, but he felt a wave of warmth wash over him and knew it was magic. She headed out the alley the opposite way, and by the Gods, she was fast. He hurried to catch up.

“Wait, who are you?” 

“Kady.” She crossed her arms. “Jesus, how much of the book did you read?”

“I stopped after the part about the museum— _hey,_ ” he stopped himself. “You know?”

Two men passed by them on the street but didn’t pay them any mind. There was a subway entrance to the 4 and 6 trains thirty feet away. 

“ _We_ know you’re coming. And I know you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. So you can follow me, or—” Kady glanced over her shoulder at the subway entrance before turning back with a smirk—“you can wait for your boy on a park bench. Don’t get mugged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mortimer Ferenc is not, as far as I know, a real artist, past or present. It is but a name chosen by an online generator. I would not dare slander anyone with stuffed bird-collection accusations in case of lawsuits. 
> 
> Also:  
> “This wasn’t on the fucking syllabus!” — Quentin Coldwater, 2006. (Since then, Q had developed a fear of pigeons.)


	10. Part Six: Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen reminds herself how scandalous sharing a bed with a stranger would be, but Margo is quite convincing.

**Seven Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

The fire crackles on as the snowstorm grows infinitely in rage outside the Inn, threatening to peel off the roofs of everyone’s house. Each year Fen would rejoice after the storm is over, glad the village folks had done just enough to survive with every home intact. And yet, each year, the weather grows a little more unkind, and she wonders how many years it will take before preparations will fail.

As Fen sleeps on, hugging her knees underneath a gigantic sheepskin throw blanket over her favorite armchair in front of the fireplace, she focuses on the crackle of the flames inside the hearth, grateful that Josh’s ever-burning spell could last for as long as the night would go. Fray had fallen asleep hours ago after her hot chocolate, barely trudging all the way upstairs before crumpling into a heap of exhaustion in Fen’s arms. Fen had carried her down the hall and put her to bed in her room, thanking the Gods for bringing her sister back safe. Except it wasn’t Ember and Umber she wanted to thank. It was Margo who convinced Fray to come back. 

The thought of the kind stranger makes Fen crack open her eyes to peer in the direction of Margo’s room. Margo sleeps in the corner room with the roof slanting down the outer wall, and as such, Fen hadn’t asked if Margo had any open space to share with the newcomers after all the other rooms in this Inn had been filled. There’s barely enough floor space for a sleeping bag, and the bed is… well, to share that would be scandalous.

As she blinks the thought away, the door to the room in question opens up. Margo peers her head out, scanning the lobby before her eyes land on Fen. Fen pulls the blanket off herself and bites back a curse— _Umber’s heart, when had this room gotten so chilly?_ —before she stands. “Everything okay?”

“Just looking for water,” Margo says, walking out. She eyes the blanket strewn over Fen’s armchair. “Have you been sleeping in a fucking chair all night?”

Sleeping would have been an overstatement. But nonetheless, Fen huffs in defense of her beloved seat. It’s a good place to sleep, as far as armchairs go. “It’s the snowstorm season. Always gets this busy. Rooms are usually all booked by sundown.” Fen smiles, then gestures to the fireplace. “I don’t mind, honestly. Josh put on his fire spell for me.”

“I remember that spell.”

Margo’s smile as she watches the fire makes Fen’s heart stutter. It’s a rare look on Margo, this expression, and it’s… fond, almost. Or nostalgic. A bit of both? For a former magician who stopped using her powers, Fen had expected Margo to wrinkle her nose at the mention of magic.

“I’ll get you some water,” Fen finally says, shaking herself out of her tangent. There’s no reason to speculate based on what little Margo had shared of her life, and as curious as Fen was, she didn’t feel right to pry.

“I can sneak into the kitchen myself.”

“Oh. I—uhh, yeah. Of course. Help yourself.”

“And—”

Fen stops in front of her armchair.

“You know what, fuck, there’s space in my room,” Margo finishes. She takes a breath. “I’ll be back with the water. Make yourself comfy.”

“No, no, I can’t—”

Ember’s word, is she blushing? Thankfully this room is dimly lit with a single torch tonight. The last thing Fen wants to do is to be caught… flustered. 

“Fen,” Margo insists. A sly grin sneaks up the corners of her mouth, as endearing as it is frustrating. “I’m not leaving you to sleep in a fucking chair. Go on. Don’t be shy.”

Her last words make Fen blush even harder. If only the torch on the far wall would blow out, too.

“If you insist,” Fen says in the end, somehow mustering more dignity than she feels.

“I insist.”

There was no backing out now. Fen raises her chin, swallows a panicked squeal, and strolls into Margo’s room, knocking her side painfully into the doorframe as she went. She keeps walking, cursing the bruise that will no doubt form on her hip come morning, and sets herself primly on one side of Margo’s bed—a very cozy bed for one—to wait. 

A hundred agonizing seconds pass before Margo comes back with a tray and sets her candle dish on her nightstand, the light inside protected by a half-dome of clear tetraglass. She pours them two glasses and climbs into bed, patting the space beside her.

“Are you sure you wish to share?”

Margo lowers her glass and peers at Fen, amused. “This your first time sharing with a girl?”

“Hardly,” Fen quips back before taking a swig, chugging half the water.

Too late, she realizes she had fallen for Margo’s bait. She climbs in next to Margo without another word and hands her glass to Margo before she slides down into the bed, keeping her head balanced precariously on half the pillow. The comforter is indeed much preferable to her sheepskin blanket, but she stays still underneath, careful not to brush against Margo’s legs. 

“Is that so?” Margo looks down, quirking her brow. “Too much to ask for a bedtime story?”

“For a fair trade, I’ll consider it.”

Margo thinks about it as she drinks her own water. Then she sets everything by her nightstand and blows out the candle and slides in next to her. She’s just as careful about not touching, if not more, but Fen hears the bed creak as she turns to face her in the dark. “Depends. What do you wanna know?”

There is so much Fen wants to ask, and under the cover of darkness, it would be so easy to get away with them. She wants to know what Margo said to Fray to get her to come back. She wants to know about Margo’s friendship with Josh—he had only mentioned them getting acquainted in his school days, bonding over being the only magicians in a small town. And that story was told to Fen only three years ago when she’d helped repair the broken roof of the old abandoned bakery so he could move in.

Most of all, she wonders about Eliot. She wonders if he had anything to do with Margo quitting a life of magic for good, or if Margo is searching for a reason to reconsider her path.

In the end, Fen decides to say, “Is this your first time? Sharing with a girl, I mean.”

“No,” Margo says, no fluster in her voice whatsoever. “And if you want me to give you a number, I’ve lost count.”

“Really?” Fen blurts out, surprised. “All strangers like me?”

 _Goodness._ Fen wants to kick herself for going too far. But if Margo’s offended, she doesn’t retaliate. All Fen hears is a hitch in Margo’s breath before she breathes out again, slowly. “Most.”

The quiver in Margo’s voice is subtle. Fen winces. She would have missed it if she weren’t searching, but she was. She knew the sound of it more than most.

“Oh,” Fen says. She shuts her eyes, not that it matters in the dark, and braces herself for her next words, a small offering for prying too far. “Me, too.”

This, here, seems like a good place to stop. Fen ought to let herself drift back into whatever dream she’d been having earlier, something about red barns, stacks of hay, and a song that wouldn’t go away. But now that Fen is here—buried underneath a comforter, a sweet stranger by her side, their hands close enough to touch, both of them huddled close yet as far as they can be—now she wants to stay awake.

“You… wanna talk about it?” Margo asks.

Fen shifts her head and stares, barely making out the silhouette of Margo peering back at her, the soft curves of Margo’s lips as she parts them, searching for her next words. 

“It’s… it’s not the most exciting tale. Someone I parted with after spending a long time getting to know them,” Fen says. She sees Margo inch forward and doesn’t move back. “It was a long time ago. I’m okay, now, really.”

“Okay.”

Fen imagines Fray rolling her eyes at the pitiful exchange. Fray would have given Fen a hard glare before inclining her head at Margo, fully expecting her to confront her admittedly not-all-noble intentions. But Fen is not her sister. All bluntness had ever done for Fen is push her in too deep.

“Her name is Cassia,” Fen caves. She pushes the image of Fray’s smug little smile from her mind and swallows. “I was fourteen when I met her. This was before the Inn—I lived in our little cottage that mom and dad built. Dad was out patrolling on most days. I had just finished school. My friends… they were all looking to begin working on their vocations. Many left the village searching for an apprenticeship.”

“And you stayed?”

“I was helping dad with patrolling. Trying to figure out my life. Silentspell didn’t always use to be a tourist destination.” Fen hears Margo chuckle. “We used to be on the lookout for intruders more than shelter-seekers. But I saw Cassia around the border when I was on watch one night, and I didn’t think she was looking for a fight.”

“So you let a stranger in?”

The teasing brings a smile to Fen’s face. “I don’t regret it. Bringing her here. Even if there’s so much of her I can’t remember. All I knew is what I wrote.”

“You were keeping a diary?”

“I wanted to remember. I hadn’t imagined I’d forget so many—back then it was just Cassia. It was the first time I thought about it. How someone from the outside can make me a part of their life, but I won’t remember them in mine. Eventually, it was too many people. Too many stories. I had to stop.”

Fen stops talking her voice could crack. This was not the time or place to be sad. Not in bed with someone who shared her space out of kindness. It was strange, being a guest in her own house. Fen finds she doesn’t mind it, but regardless, crying in the dead of night would not have been proper.

“Did the Fairies do this?” Margo asks. “This shield with the added memory loss?”

“It was here from the beginning, yes.” Fen’s voice is steady again. “Part of the reason we’ve been a secure hideout. But I don’t think the Fairies understood what they were asking of us, to separate people who had bonded. We’re not like the Fairies. We don’t all live as one. We have our own sides to pick. We run away from bad people.”

“That, we do.”

“Word got around about this village a few years after Cassia came and went. I have the talking animals to thank—they’re not bound by the shield, so they spread rumors about this place, and people come around looking. And the runners? They make up most of my guests. But there are others,” Fen adds. “Some people were looking for a fresh start. Others came to look for their friends, thinking they might’ve heard rumors about this village and come over. A lot of them reunited, actually, which was the most wonderful thing, all of them happy and settling in as one of us. Those were the people who tended to stay.”

“And the others?”

“They find out what they’re really after. I try my best to offer my assistance. And eventually, they’d move on.”

“Is that what Cassia did?”

“She found her future. The animals told me it was in a different world.”

“Like, Loria?”

“You know about Loria?”

Margo pauses for a second, then says, “Roan told me.”

“Oh. But no. Not Loria. It was Earth, actually. That’s what the bluejay told me. Cassia found the White Lady as she wished. She asked for a suitable place she could call home, and the White Lady sent her to a place called Earth.”

“You remember all this?”

“Sometimes I read my earlier entries so I won’t forget,” Fen says. “From the beginning, when Cassia was still here. I was… I was fourteen, just realizing I’d never courted anyone. Never held hands, or picked roses, or… you know. Cassia was a friend at first. She didn’t have any family. She and a few other kids were raised by this group of men who made her do parlor tricks for their circus.”

“What “kind of tricks?”

“Spells. Not deliberate, just… things she felt. She was a magician.” She feels Margo stiffen at the sound of the word. “Sorry.”

“They exploited her?” Margo asks. Something tells Fen it’s more than just a guess.

“For years, that’s the only life she knew. She broke out from their caravan window one night. Snuck all the way across the woods. Must’ve walked for hours. By dawn, she had twigs in her hair and looked like she hadn’t slept in months. That’s when I ran into her. And she was scared. I couldn’t turn her away.”

“You say that about everyone.”

That makes Fen chuckle. “Would you rather I don’t?”

“I’m not the right person to ask. You took me in. I could’ve been dangerous, for all you know.”

“I don’t think so.”

Fen imagines Margo giving her a skeptical look. “Don’t you?”

“Not with the way you talk about your friend.” _The way your eyes light up and the corners of your mouth tick and it’s impossible for you to hide your smile._ Fen wishes she can tell Margo everything, but she holds back. “You care for him. I can tell.”

“I’m glad you took a chance on me.”

“That’s why I do what I do,” Fen explains. The relief in Margo’s voice makes Fen want to move closer and reach for Margo’s hand, but she restrains herself. “I know the risks, but I’d rather risk bringing in someone dangerous than leave someone innocent to get hurt out there. Cassia was the first chance I took.”

“Broke your heart, though,” Margo pointed out. “Must’ve been hard when she left.”

“Maybe. But it wasn’t all bad. That’s how I got my first kiss. And we… well, we tried courting, as little as we knew, anyway. She stayed here for five months, but she was always looking for something else. I could tell. And whatever she wanted, Silentspell couldn’t offer it to her. So one day I stopped by the Library to speak to Roan. And that’s how I heard about the White Lady.”

“White Lady,” Margo’s voice seems to falter. She recovers immediately and adds, “Is that some kind of genie?”

“Genie?”

“Magical Being stuck in a tight-ass bottle for a century? Grants three wishes if you set them free after? It’s an Earth thing. One of our little myths.”

Fen furrows her brows, trying and failing to picture a little man trapped in opaque glass. Earth truly does have the strangest tales. “Something like that,” Fen decides. “Except she’s… free. She lives around the Darkling Woods, wherever she pleases. You have to shoot an arrow and hit her in order to get one wish.”

“Sounds brutal.”

“It sounded nearly impossible. But the squirrels told me they’d seen her. The White Lady ran fast, but they knew she was there. And so I told Cassia what she could do, and Cassia set out to find her. She told me that’s what she really wanted—to go to a new world, somewhere that lets magicians make their own path. I was… I was happy for her. I wrote everything down, everything about her that I knew. But I still think there’s something missing.”

“You’ll know when you see it,” Margo says. “But you can’t know until you do. Is that how you feel?”

If Fen hadn’t known Fray and witnessed how her magic works, she would have suspected Margo is a psychic. “How is it that you know so much?”

“I’ve got my ways,” Margo tells her after a pause. 

“I won’t pry,” Fen says. “And… thank you, Margo. It’s the first time I talked about her. To a guest, I mean.”

“No one else ever asked?”

“I’m more of a listener.”

“You must have heard it all, then. Tales of broken strangers and shit like that.”

“Not broken. Lost.”

“Lost, then,” Margo concedes. “I don’t mind listening. You got everyone else's story. I wanted to hear yours.”

“It’s been good, telling someone. No one has ever asked. Well, besides Fray.”

“Fray knows?”

“Fray knows everything.”

“Wouldn’t have imagined anything different,” Margo says. “She’s a sweet one, and too smart for her own good.”

“Just wait ‘till she warms up to you. She’s got snark buried under that innocent little face.”

“Oh, I know.” There’s a warmth in Margo’s voice that comes out when she talks about Fray. Hearing it makes Fen want to thank Margo, again, for stepping in tonight. “I’ve seen it.”

“She likes you, I think. She’s not normally so quick to bond. But you’re…”

Fen trails off. There’s something about Margo that makes Fen want to tell her everything, that determined look in her eyes when she’s searching for answers, one that Fen had fallen prey to from the very beginning when Margo asked about the Gods. And yet Margo divulges very little about her own life, much like Fen’s own way of interacting with her other patrons. 

Sometimes—too often—Fen doesn’t understand what’s in her own heart until she sees it reflected in someone else, buried underneath an armor of steel. The shadow of hope in Margo’s smile may be her only way in. But not tonight. Not when all Fen wants to do is lie awake and remember.

So instead of thanking Margo for listening, or for saving Fray, again, or for shivering in the woods as Fen passed by two evenings ago to search for shelter, Fen finds Margo’s hand and squeezes it once, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. Margo lets Fen touch her before she inches her head a little closer to Fen’s on their shared pillow, and laces their fingers.

“But I’m what?” Margo whispers.

“You’re… different,” Fen finishes, wincing immediately. “Like Josh. Josh is different.” 

Stammering out the second bit of her sentence made it so, so much worse. What ever had gone into her tonight?

But then she hears the smile in Margo’s voice again. “Like Josh. Alright. I’ll take that. He’s a good guy.”

“Has he always been like this? Since you’d known him on Earth?”

“Always. I’d say so. He might be the only non-selfish magician on Earth. You know, when we first met, I asked him what he was planning to do with his magic. I called it his Flower Power.” Margo snorted. “And he told me he wanted to make pretty flowers come to life and teach them to live on their own. And I thought, well, he’s gotta be shitting me.”

“His spells are incredible,” Fen agrees. “I wouldn’t have believed him, either. I thought he was bluffing ‘till he showed his magic to me. He could bring life back into a dying patch of land, do things I didn’t believe anyone besides the Gods could control. Fray’s real fond of his spells.”

“He loves having her over at the bakery, I can tell,” Margo says. “And she’s got me beat at every job in there. Her lemon bars are way better. But her cakes?”

“Aren’t they exquisite?” 

“Who taught her?”

“She picked it up from watching everyone,” Fen yawns. “Like I said—she knows everything.”

“Sleep,” Margo orders.

Fen huffs, but gives in, eyes already shut in protest. She doesn’t turn away, though, and neither does Margo. The warmth of Margo’s breath makes her shiver, and not from the cold. 

“What about you?” Fen mumbles, fighting her exhaustion. A woman capable of risking her own life out there in the storm for a child she barely knew was anything but selfish. And she’s curious about Margo. Curious to a fault. “Your magic, back in the day—was it anything like Josh’s?”

There’s only silence. Maybe Margo had ordered her to sleep because she herself was close to drifting off. Fen swallows back her disappointment. 

And then Margo speaks, her voice nearly buried underneath the sound of the howling wind outside her wall. “I wish it was. But I’m not Josh. Everything I tried to fix, I broke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fen is baby. Clumsy baby.


	11. Love's strange so real in the dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo moved to Chicago. Alice was sweet, and magical, and intoxicating. A strange gift from an unknown sender busted her father’s lies.

** May 2007 **

A week after the start of summer break, Margo came home from the mall to find the living room magically packed and stacked into boxes and disassembled furniture parts, two U-Haul trucks blocking their main door with a dozen workers hauling all their lives’ shit out of the L.A. house she lived in all her life. She groaned and went to find her dad. She confronted him, arms crossed, scowling at the now-spotless kitchen with nothing left but the appliances and the marble top counter where she and her dad, Raymond Hanson, used to play chess.

“You’ll like Chicago, Princess,” Raymond told her. “You’re always complaining about the heat.”

“Chicago?” Margo rolled her eyes for the sake of giving her dad a hard time. “Of all cities, we’re moving to Chicago?”

In truth, Margo didn’t give a fuck. Her friends were being shipped off to various overpriced boarding school around the country, and she wasn’t going to miss them as much as she claimed—all they knew about each other were the boys they’d kissed and what their wardrobes looked like. Margo had stopped trying to make friends by asking people on playdates years ago, because the parents involved would try to make shit weird. Since the start of middle school, she’d decided to play hostess and hand out invites to house parties, and it had worked.

Friendship was strategic, and nothing more. The more people Margo had on her side, the less she had that stood against her. She took girls and anyone outside the binary under her wing, but boys were invite-only. A little taste of illusion magic, and none of the muggles at school would think to pick on her people. Magic was good at covering up trails, and rule-bending was easy when no one could accuse her of something they couldn’t prove.

Raymond’s gaze softened, the corners of his eyes twisting into a perfect guilt-ridden smile. “I got us a penthouse,” he said, imploring for forgiveness. “And I know you love this house, so I’m not gonna sell it. We’re just going to… clear it out. Bring everything we love into our new home. It’s a nice place—thirtieth floor on Water Street. Perfect for watching the stars.”

Margo wanted to point out there wouldn’t be any stars in the middle of a fucking city, but decided watching the skyline could be the next best thing. In the end, she said nothing and helped pack up the rest of their shit. She and her dad hadn’t been talking like they used to, not since Margo had quit ice skating at the end of seventh grade and refused to tell him why. Moving out without asking Margo’s opinion took this newfound silence between them to the next level, but Margo had given up trying to talk sense into him.

It could have been worse, Margo told herself. Her dad’s psychic powers had granted him many privileges in life, but most of all, it had granted him the possibility of getting away with an increase of wealth. He left home after college and moved to the West Coast with Margo’s mom to start his own business. At first, he auctioned off gifts and services like all the other self-righteous philanthropists in the city; but with the ability to read people’s memories, came the possibility of finding magical objects, well-hidden in magicians’ minds from everyone except psychics. And so Margo had a roof over her head and access to Raymond’s credit cards. What else could she have asked for?

Margo and her dad hopped on a plane and didn’t look back. As Raymond had promised, the Chicago penthouse was appropriately over-the-top. It was almost enough for Margo to forgive her dad for packing their life up and hightailing it out of L.A. without consulting her.  _Almost_ .

She was re-enrolled in a different overpriced private school. She didn’t need to ask how they’d managed to get a spot so late, though; magic got shit done, and dad always had his ways. At least Margo knew for sure she’d be fine with the climate—the weather in Chicago cut like a bitch, leaving a whiplash of extreme temperature with two weeks of mild weather a year in-between seasons. Margo found the brutality of it refreshing after spending most of her life in the sunshine-bathed sauna that is L.A., switching between tanning outdoors and hiding inside somewhere with A.C.

On the first night in Chicago, after Margo and Raymond finished off the four-handed spells they needed to unpack into their new place, Margo finally stopped to think about the old house they’d abandoned. It was where they lived when her mom was still around. What if she decided to come back and couldn’t find them? Could she find her way across the country?  _Would_ she?

A few years ago, Margo would’ve kicked herself for forgetting about mom. But Margo had waited until she couldn’t anymore, and time went on, and she couldn’t remember the last time her mother had crossed her mind. The memories she had of Mira weren’t fading, but they were shuffling away to make room for other things, tucking themselves deep into the corners of Margo’s mind. Now Mira’s part of her life was buried beneath restricted spells, and Christmas vacations in Switzerland with dad, and the five boyfriends she’d dumped, and the cute theatre girl she made out with in the dimly-lit backstage after the rest of the school had gone.

Before Margo went to bed that night, she’d sat by the big dropdown window, stared at the skyline, and wondered how many more memories it would take to bury what she had left of her mom altogether. Maybe that’s why Raymond decided to make them move. Maybe he couldn’t bear being stuck at the old mansion in Beverly Hills, waiting for someone who, for all Margo knew, never intended to come back.

* * *

**October 2008**

At the start of ninth grade Margo wasted no time picking up a new pack of friends, because in a world full of male entitlement and sexist bullshit, cliques are a girl’s best form of protection. By sophomore year, Margo had doubled the number of people she’d dated and then dumped. She would’ve slept with the whole football team by the time she graduated, but her cravings and no-emotions-attached ambitions were thwarted by the arrival of a freshman by the name of one Alice Quinn.

Margo had heard about the Quinns. Her dad had gone to a dozen of Stephanie Quinn’s R-Rated Roman Festivals at the Quinns’ Estate and always waltzed his way back in the house the next morning high as a kite. Margo didn’t know Stephanie had a teenage daughter—motherhood probably wasn’t something Stephanie liked to bring up with the intergalactic magicians she made out with after too much wine. It got Margo curious enough to do some further digging, where she found out Alice lived with her older brother Charlie, and not in the house of sexual abandon. Who could blame her?

Margo didn’t know what to expect about Alice come the first day back at school after summer, but cute-yet-impossibly-shy nerd wasn’t it. Alice was the only freshman who didn’t give a shit about making friends, and she embraced her know-it-all solitude like a well-fitted cloak. Whatever Alice did to get all the guys in school to leave her alone, it was oftentimes more effective than Margo’s outright requests for the dicks to fuck off. 

It had to be magic, Margo decided. And once Margo drew that conclusion, she began to see proof of it everywhere, all the fizzles of lights and shadows and whispered words when Alice thought no one cared to listen. Because in a school fuck of suck-ups and white-privileged victims of the indoctrination of college applications, any spark of magic would’ve stood out like a fucking jewel. But Alice’s magic was next-level. It was intoxicating, pulsing out like a bright white aura of light, and before Margo knew it, she was staring: down Alice’s neckline, tracing the lace outline of the pink lace bra that showed through the semi-transparent white uniform blouse—

_Jesus freaking tits, stop it._

Margo was displeased more than she was smitten. Alice was the only one in the school who didn’t give a fuck about her. And Margo fucking Hanson, skepticism and all, couldn’t get past the temptations driven by the same reverse psychology that worked on everyone else who’d ever been drawn to a cute girl. The more Alice steered herself away, the more Margo wondered about her.

In the end, after a week of stalking the girl in question—between classes, after school, and any time during the day she could sneak off into the library without her friends wondering where she’d gone—all it took was a spark for Alice to notice her. One single snap of her finger and a little fizz of what was certainly magic, and Alice’s eyes were peering curiously at Margo from across the library table, the worn-out copy of  _The Great Gatsby_ in her hand forgotten.

Margo shot Alice a sly smile before picking up her bag and walking over, inviting herself to join Alice’s side. Alice wore a soft pink cardigan over her uniform shirt, but the glare she shot Margo was pure daggers. “I thought I made it clear I want to be left alone.”

Margo tried her best to smile—wasn’t sure she could even do it properly, she was so out of practice—but Alice only tensed. “Figured you might want a little company,” Margo quipped instead. “Don’t bother with anyone else in this school. They’re all muggles. I’ve done my recon.”

Alice scowled but leaned closer and studied Margo’s face. “You’re the Hanson girl. Raymond’s daughter.”

Margo shrugged. “Join me for a coffee after school, Alice, and you’ll see I’m a lot more than that.”

At first, Margo had only expected her and Alice to be friends. Margo could never be open about magic to any of her old friends, and over the years she’d built the perfect prototype to hide her darkest secrets. But as much as Margo enjoyed the power of holding secrets, the truth was she preferred having someone to share it with. 

By their fifth time hanging out after school, Alice was in Margo’s house, so early in the day that her dad hadn’t come home. Margo brought out a book from her dad’s shelf with two-handed spells and asked Alice to pick a random page, then another, then another. They fucked up most of the spells on their first try and agreed they’d sleep on it, but there was one spell that worked—a spell that made the light in Margo’s room blink on and off in morse code to spell out their names. Come sundown, they were giggling off their asses like the magic itself had intoxicated them both, toppling over on Margo’s bed, where they had sat learning magic all afternoon.

That night, Alice called her brother and told him she was sleeping over somewhere else, then hung up and inched closer to Margo and asked if they could kiss. They fell asleep to colorful sparks hovering in the atmosphere, the air above their heads growing thick with residues of half-succeeded spells. Their first study session that turned into a date left them wanting for more. They wanted to take the magic out, to cast it somewhere over the city where they could be more than what the world expected of privileged high school girls like them.

* * *

**February 2009**

Five months after Margo and Alice started dating, Margo met Victoria on Alice’s fire escape.

It was three hours before dawn, and Margo and Alice were sneaking back in, scaling the ladder as quietly as they could in the dark, their movements quiet and precise like a well-rehearsed dance. Margo and her girlfriend had been sneaking out after dark to explore the city every few days, though on most nights they ended up intervening in petty crimes and the likes. This was their dozenth heist, as Margo liked to call them. With each heist, Margo wished harder that the night would drag out so they wouldn’t have to stop. If Charlie had been the only one home, he would have been none the wiser.

But Charlie’s girlfriend was evidently more perceptive, or a bigger night owl, or simply at the right fire escape at the right time. Vic caught them red-handed on her first night in Charlie’s place while she sat outside Alice’s window and smoked.

Vic quirked an eyebrow as they emerged from the steps below. “Out for a late romantic getaway?”

Alice gave Margo a wry smile. “This is Vic. Charlie’s girlfriend.” She looked at Vic. “Thought you weren’t coming ‘till Saturday?”

Margo had heard about Vic when she and Alice first started dating, but she had expected Vic to be a sweet, nerdy type like Charlie himself. The woman in front of her was anything but. Vic was a ripped jeans and dark eyeliner type of person, complete with dirty blonde hair and a black t-shirt with a Gryffindor logo in red and gold. Margo liked her immediately.

Instead of answering, Vic put out her cigarette and slid back into Alice’s bedroom through the window, then sat on the bed waiting with a look that said explain yourselves. “Finished my assignment earlier than expected. Boss was happy with me. Gave me a few weeks’ break.”

“No new lead on who the big boss is?” Margo asked.

Charlie and Vic had been recruited as caseworkers after college, but they caught the interest of another employer off the books, someone who recognized them as magicians and decided to deploy them for special assignments. Whoever their boss was, they redacted personal information immaculately and relayed assignments through various messengers. All Charlie knew was the boss had a way of acquiring the most hard-to-find spellbooks, and on his days off, he could borrow one and study his heart out.

Still, the job offer had been too perfect to pass. The pay was good, and most magicians couldn’t find good enough pay with their gifts. Though Charlie was bummed out about having to live apart from Vic every few months. Small grievances for the freedom that came with going rogue on the sponsorship of America’s biggest spellbook supplier underground. Sometimes Charlie would pry a little into the person behind this chain of strange magical missions. Not that he’d found anything out.

“Uh-uh. Not now.” Vic gestured for the two girls to sit. Margo and Alice shared the beanbag chair in the corner of the room, edging close to each other. “You first. Out late making trouble, I’m guessing?”

“We’re not making trouble,” Alice said. “Just trying out a few spells.”

“On bank robbers?” At their surprised look, Vic smirked. “News travels fast when you have a TV. Next time try to stay lower. We don’t want news anchors catching a glimpse of a shield. The muggles can’t handle it.”

“You’re not going to tattle?” Margo dared herself to ask.

Vic shrugged. “Don’t get yourselves killed. Stay out of the media. You know the drill. But if you’re not back by dawn, or you show up with a cut across your pretty cheeks, I’ll have to spill.”

Margo and Alice gave Vic a grateful smile. 

Vic stood up, winked, puts a finger over her lips, and sauntered out the door. She stopped at the frame and craned her head back, and whispered, “Best way to get over it is to get tired of it. Charlie never had a taste of teenage rebellion. But that’s Charlie for you. Only Charlie.”

* * *

**May 2009**

Margo started hanging out at Alice’s more often now that Vic was home. She adored Charlie, but he was so different from Margo that their only thing in common was how much they cared about Alice. Vic was his balancing force, daring where he looked out for safety over everything else. It was no secret that Vic adored that about her boyfriend—once Vic admitted to Margo that she would’ve been in deep shit if she acted out of her own will with no one to hold her back. 

One Friday at the tail end of Margo’s sophomore year, three weeks before summer, Margo stayed over at Alice and Charlie’s place for a quiet night in. The AP Calc final was fast approaching on the following Monday, but Alice interrupted their study session half an hour in and declared she was bored. They spent the rest of the night cuddling and trying new spells, and eventually they fell asleep that way, touching foreheads on the pillow they shared.

Hours later, Margo woke up to a song she hadn’t heard in a long time playing on the TV in Charlie’s living room. She started and pulled the blanket off her, not wanting to wake Alice. Alice’s hand on her shoulder told her she’d failed.

“You okay?”

Margo turned back to face her with a frown, trying to make out the tune. She knew the lyrics in the back of her mind somewhere. “What’s that song?”

To her surprise, Alice smiled. “Charlie used to sing this to me when I was feeling bad. It was one of our favorites. From  _The Breakfast Club_ ?”

Alice hummed along, then stood up from her bed and opened the door ajar. Margo could hear the lyrics from the speakers by the TV now, and they made her skin crawl.

_Won’t you come see about me_

_I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby_

“Hey.” Charlie noticed the door opening and craned his head back to peek into Alice’s room. “Mornin’. Wanna join us for movie night?”

Vic turned next to Charlie, a blanket on her lap. She saw Margo’s expression and gave Margo a concerned look. Margo shrugged it off and stepped out with Alice, and the four of them shared muffins and cereals without milk as they watched on while the sun rose. Nothing else about the movie made Margo feel strange. But the song…

Margo went home that evening to pack a bag and tell her dad she’d be staying at Alice’s one more night. When she woke by Alice’s side the next morning, there was a little box sitting on the ledge of Alice’s window. Inside was a glass orb pendant strung on a silver chain that looked like a tiny snow globe, no larger than the tip of Margo’s thumb. 

A silver stream appeared inside the orb when Margo fastened the chain around her neck, then vanished when she turned the orb in her hand for a better look. The parcel had no return address, but underneath the velvet cushion inside the box, there was a note with one single word scrawled on a piece of parchment with green ink.

_Remember._

“It feels like magic.” Alice peeked over Margo's shoulder and shuffled to sit by her side, the bed creaking in protest.

“How the fuck did it find me?”

Alice frowned, then turned to her door. “Charlie might know.”

Charlie did not know, but Vic had a few suspicions. She examined the orb around Margo’s neck and shook it, and nodded when the silver substance showed itself. “Tetraglass orb—it’s super rare. Had to be picked out from the bottom of freshwater streams, already formed into bubbles like this.”

“Weird,” Margo said.

“Useful little trinket for mind-reading,” Vic explained. “Really helpful if you’re not a psychic—you can save your own memories in it that way, go through it again, pick out what you missed the first time… fun shit. But with a psychic’s help, you can see it in the third person. Like, on the outside, looking at yourself and whoever else happens to be there. Creepy, but useful.”

“Who would send this to me?”

Vic pointed at the silvery substance floating inside the glass. “Looks like they already put something in. A memory of theirs. We can see for ourselves.”

“Is it safe?” Charlie asked.

Alice mirrored her brother’s look of concern, but Vic humphed and decided, “Only one way to find out. Follow me.”

Vic closed her hand over Margo’s so they held the tetraglass orb together. Margo peered into the glass surface. “How do we see what’s inside?”

“It knows,” Vic instructed. “All you have to do is wish.”

Margo stared at the silvery substance, feeling her skin crawl. She thought about the song that she couldn’t place and heard a woman singing. Her voice was gentle though it was raspy, broken in her youth over time like she had laughed too hard without care. It was her mother’s voice, and it took Margo a moment to notice she wasn’t standing in Charlie’s apartment anymore. She was back in her house in L.A., only her mother Mira was there on the couch, and the TV was on, playing  _The Breakfast Club_ over the large plasma screen.

Vic was by Margo’s side, eyeing the surroundings. Margo wasn’t holding Vic’s hand or touching the tetraglass anymore. The orb must have brought them inside the memory. Margo walked around and saw a young version of herself curled up with her head on her mom’s lap on the couch. Mira was stroking Margo’s hair with a gentle touch, quietly persuading her to go to bed.

“This was you?” Vic asked.

Margo started. She hadn’t seen Vic’s mouth move. 

“We can speak outside while we’re in. It’s… hard to explain.”

“This was me and my mom,” Margo said, trying to get past how unnatural it felt to be placed inside her past like she’s a ghost. “It was the last night I saw her.”

There was only one other person who could have had this memory, and that person had not been in Margo’s life since she was five years old.

_Won’t you come see about me,_

_I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby._

_Tell me your troubles and doubts,_

_Giving me everything inside and out._

The moment fast-forwarded, and the song played on the speakers by the TV, the volume turned low. Mira tensed in her seat. The child version of Margo turned back to look at Mira, who was humming along, mouthing the lyrics. Then Mira froze entirely, her eyes losing focus. Before Margo could rouse her, she recovered from her trance and twitched. Mira turned her eyes slowly toward the closed door of the bedroom that she and Margo’s dad shared. A look of fear crossed her eyes.

Young Margo opened her mouth to speak, but Mira shushed her daughter gently. The song continued to play. “I have to go,” Mira whispered. She lowered her head so she was looking into Margo’s eyes. “I’ll be back soon. In a few days. Maybe a few weeks.”

“But why?” Margo whispered back, whining. “Why do you have to go?”

“I need to find Hannah.”

“Who’s Hannah?”

“She’s…” Mira hesitated. She swallowed, and when she saw Margo was still watching her, she sighed and said, “She’s lost. And I need to find her and help her remember.”

“Can I come with?”

Mira shook her head. “I’ll miss you, but I can’t. I’ll come back and find you. Hannah and I, we’ll… we’ll come back.”

“What about daddy?”

“He’ll know.” Mira’s smile was forced. Margo believed what she said and didn’t understand what the smile meant. “You don’t have to say anything. He’ll know where I’ve gone. And he’ll know I’m coming back.”

That was the end of the memory. Margo saw the scene dissolve around her, and when she found herself back in Charlie’s place, Vic was still holding her hand. Margo dropped the orb and let it dangle from the chain. Alice and Charlie were watching from the kitchen island. She let out a shaky breath, feeling her head spin.

“This isn’t what I remembered,” Margo said. Her breaths came in short bursts, and her heart was pounding, hammering against her ribs. “This isn’t true. This—it can’t be real. It’s not real. It can’t be.”

Vic gave Margo a look that made her shrink on the spot. It looked like pity, and it hurt. “I know a falsified memory when I see, Margo,” she said softly. “And that memory we saw was real. Everything was real.”

“But why don’t I remember?” Margo picked up the orb again. This time it felt much, much heavier.

“We can try your version of this memory,” Vic suggested. “See what might’ve happened to it. We can use the orb for that. I’ll help you. I mean, if you want.”

Slowly, Margo looked up and nodded. She let Vic close her hand over the orb again, and this time she thought of the version of that same night she’d remembered for years. When Charlie’s kitchen faded from view, and Margo was back in her L.A. home, she asked, “How do I know what’s not real?”

She felt Vic squeeze her hand. “You search for shadows,” Vic said. “Things without shadows don’t belong. Same goes for people.”

It was dark that night except for a small lamp in the corner of the room with a soft yellow glow. Margo looked at the ground and traced the shadows of every object against the floorboards. They were all there until her mom turned off the TV and ushered the child version of her to bed. The shadows disappeared at once—not the shadow of the couch, or the lamp, or the TV, or the shelves… but her shadow and her mother’s.

The mother and daughter here were made-up figures, pulled seamlessly out of an existing memory and reinserted into the scene, acting out something that had never happened. Margo watched her younger self whine about her bedtime. She saw her mom shake her head and chuckle, exasperated, before picking little Margo up and carrying her upstairs to her room. 

The scene continued to play out, but Margo let go of the orb. She sobbed and felt Alice’s arms around her. Vic was saying something, but Margo couldn’t hear any of it.

She was remembering: mom reading her a bedtime story that night before going back downstairs to sleep; waking up the next morning in her own bed, not the couch; dad knocking on her door before she could get up, asking to come in. He’d explained her mom had gone out in the early morning and hadn’t left a note, but she’d be back soon, he was sure. 

That was the last time Margo saw her mother. And that was a lie. No human could tamper with memories in such a way unless they were a psychic, and the only psychic Margo knew was her dad.

* * *

**June 2010**

It was one of their easier heists, lasting three hours from the start of the operation to total ass-kicking. Alice and Margo had fled the scene with no scratches and left six perps behind for the cops to arrest. The adrenaline still coursed through their bodies, making them sprint down the city streets.

Sunrise wasn’t for another two hours or so, and 4 A.M. was a weird time to be out and about—drug dealers and drunk nightclub-goers had gone home, and no one was up, not even the joggers. Margo and Alice ran down the street holding hands, not bothering to stop at red lights. Charlie and Vic were out of town on another mission from their mystery boss. At least they knew they didn’t have to sneak back in through Alice’s window.

“I’m  _bored_ ,” Alice whined when they stopped at a nearby Starbucks. It was one they’d stop by for breakfast on days when their heists ran longer, but right now it was still closed.

Margo smirked. “Already?”

Alice was fading in and out of view, her phosphromancy disguising her as invisible one second and making her glow with a silver aura the next. It was the middle of summer break, but Alice had her spy gear out for pure aesthetics, a hoodie zipped over her white smock with pink florals. The gear in question had cat-ears sewn onto the hood, which concealed most of Alice’s head. Her blonde hair peeked out from the sides, slightly iridescent like the rest of her. It might have spooked others to see a girl who literally glowed, but Margo found it endearing.

“I’m not tired,” Alice insisted.

“Didn’t think you were.” Margo grabbed Alice’s hand. “We can find a nice view. Millennium Park is five blocks away or something.”

Margo began to guide Alice around the corner, but Alice stopped, frowning. “They open at six.”

“It’s six o’clock somewhere. It’s six o’clock in fucking Greenland.”

Alice rolled her eyes but picked up her pace, swinging their hands as they walked. “They’re going to arrest us for trespassing.”

“We went full cat-women and stopped a robbery, Kitty. You’re worried about trespassing?”

Alice considered Margo’s point and shrugged. 

They crawled between the hedges into the park and found a stone-paved lane where there’d be hot dog and ice cream stands during the day. A bench waited for them by the fountain where people would toss pennies during the day.

Alice sat down. Margo was beside her in a moment. She propped her feet by the armrest and lay her head on Alice’s lap, peering up at Alice’s face before she yawned. Margo didn’t know how the fuck Alice could keep her mind intact even if she’d gone a full day without sleep, but one condition of dating Alice Quinn was staying with her when the rest of the world was asleep. This was the best compromise, and more than worth the dark circles under Margo’s eyes come morning that she’d have to conceal.

Alice’s stroked Margo’s hair, her fingers slow and steady. She ran her hand down the side of Margo’s cheek and watched Margo smile. Margo loved this the most after a heist when the energy from her own powers would leave her skin cold. Before Margo had taken the plunge and dated a girl—to hell with the rumors and jealousy and prejudice from the muggles—she didn’t know she liked to be touched outside of bed. Maybe she still didn’t, but Alice, as always, was an exception.

A bird chirped on a nearby tree, either an early riser or a grumpy fella trying to tell the two humans to get their asses off its turf. Margo chuckled at the thought.

“What?”

“Most birds in Fillory talked,” Margo said. “And I was wondering if this one here’s telling us to fuck off.”

Alice scrunched up her nose. “Rude.”

“I know. The ones in Fillory were savages. But the squirrels were the real dicks.”

“Sounds like squirrels.”

Margo hummed in agreement before turning her gaze away to search the sky, hoping for something cool. But of course, there were no stars that night. Margo turned back to the much lovelier sight of her girlfriend, her face now in full view except for a faint ripple of light across her skin as the residual phosphromancy began to fade from her.

“See anything nice up there?” Alice asked.

“Two clouds.”

Alice tilted her head to look. “That one looks like a horse.” She pointed to the one peeking out from behind the Tribune Tower.

“Maybe he chased all the stars away,” Margo mused. “El and I used to watch the stars in Fillory—the planet’s not in the Milky Way, and it’s somewhere with a shit ton of little stars orbiting around. Every night we’d find hundreds. El told me all this; he knew constellations and shit like a nerd.”

Here in Chicago, Margo didn’t expect to see stars at all, and dawn wasn’t remarkable, either, unless she stumbled upon that one camera-worthy sunset every few months. Most of the time it was dark sky turning to lighter blue, the orange of the sun washing over before shit got infuriatingly bright in an hour or two.

“We should get out of the city one day,” Alice said. “Find a cornfield. Charlie told me he and Vic saw Cassiopeia over in Godfrey in spring.”

Margo nodded, already planning their getaway. Maybe she’d wait ‘till one of those weekends when her dad was out of town so she could take his Mercedes. Out to watch the stars somewhere quiet. Margo never thought she’d experience romance like this on Earth. All the storybook-worthy things in her past happened in a literal galaxy far, far away.

Alice fell silent. Margo got up and sat next to her, finding her hand again in the dark. Alice turned and gave Margo a peck on the cheek. “I love you, Margo,” she whispered close to her ear.

Margo felt her heart skip a beat. She restrained herself from turning, and instead glared ahead as she went full-on heart-eyes. Margo couldn’t smile for just anyone, but with Alice, smiles were irresistible. She wanted to tell Alice she felt the same way, but her mouth betrayed her by saying, “I know.”

Alice tensed. Margo caved and looked back at Alice, whose eyes dimmed with a disappointment that she quickly shoved away with a smile. Margo swallowed back the lump in her throat. Alice deserved to hear Margo say she loved her back. But saying it made it real, and the truth was terrifying, and Margo, it turned out, was a coward when it came to love. 

Instead, Margo leaned forward and pulled Alice in for a kiss, hoping Alice would forgive her for being scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because memory-reading is the most magical plot device, and it's a hoot.


	12. Part Seven: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo gets a taste of Fillorian fashion. Fen talks about knives. How many potatoes does it take to make a stew?

**Six Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Margo wakes up to find Fen already gone from her bed. She walks out after putting on the only spare change of clothes she’d brought, swallowing her disappointment. There hadn’t been much time for Margo to do laundry considering everything else that had gone on, but she’s thankful she’d asked for a basin and soaked her jeans and sweater in some soapy water on her first night. The other set of clothes she’d worn last night had been caked in mud and bits of grass after she chased after Fray. 

But she’ll deal with it later. 

After sweeping the rooms all morning, cursing the fact that Fillorians did not invent vacuums, Fen asks her to put on her cloak and follow her out. She’s baffled by the invitation but doesn’t have enough space in her head to wonder what it means. Her head is still swimming with the many possible ways she could ask Fen about knifemaking, none of which sounds remotely feasible and unsuspicious.

“We’ll cut across the tunnels,” Fen says as soon as they leave the warmth of the Inn from the back door, turning around so the wind is blowing against her back. 

Fen draws the hood of her cloak over her head and begins making her way to the farmland three houses behind the Inn, leaving Margo no time to argue. The storm is brutally raging on to assert dominance over the people seeking shelter in cottages that threaten to upturn themselves, but compared to last night, it’s nearly forgiving. Fen doesn’t stop until they’re inside a magical shortcut similar to the one Margo had traveled through with Fray last night, then turns around. 

“Where the fuck are we going?” Margo asks.

“To visit an old friend. They’ll be expecting us—I’d sent word this morning.”

And that is all the conversation they have as Fen leads them through three more shortcuts, each time ending up in a different part of the farmland that all looks the same to Margo. It’s a marvel how anyone finds their way around, but she supposes Fen had done this every day for years, always ducking and weaving her way out of the farmland and across the river to find more strays to pick up. After their final shortcut, they stop at another end of the village, and Margo makes out flowers standing on tall stems around her. They don’t look like any species she’d seen on Earth, and they change in shape as Margo continues to stare before vanishing altogether, leaving only the stems.

“They’re illusion flowers,” Fen explains. She leads Margo to the closest building once they reach the end of the farmland and stands on the back porch underneath an awning. “They change themselves to fit the landscape around them. We use them for weddings, mostly. But they’re shy. They don’t like to be gazed upon for their own sake.”

“They stay alive in winter?”

Fen knocks on the door, and Margo hears someone answer from inside before footsteps approach. “Only inside the shield. They used to be everywhere in the Kingdom, but the snowstorms took out most of them. We don’t use much of ours anymore. Some of them we’d sell; but most of these, we try to preserve.”

The door opens before Margo can respond, revealing a tall person in a charcoal gray tunic and golden belt with black pants underneath. Their kinky black hair is styled into a pixie cut with streaks of vibrant teal strands mixed in. If Fen hadn’t said they were her friend, Margo would have thought she was meeting another child of Earth, judging by their fashion as well as their plum-colored lipstick and golden hoop earrings. 

They raise an eyebrow at Margo before turning to Fen with a cheeky grin. “Been a while since you brought a girl in for me. Well, come on.”

Inside is a humble foyer with a coat and shoe rack and a long bench. It doesn’t give much away and looks more like the reception area. There’s a set of stairs leading up to a private living quarters and a large cupboard underneath the stairs for storage. Instead of inviting them up, Fen’s friend leads them through to the front of the house, beaming as they pull aside the divider curtain to let their guests through. 

Margo finds herself standing in a clothing workshop with a high ceiling, revealing two stories out in the open for the customers. Stairs sit on both sides of the room leading up to the mezzanine, on which a dozen mannequins stand, each sporting a thick winter gown or a tunic or blouses and pants. There’s a different kind of cloak draped over each of them, all fur-lined and clearly made with the season in mind. High shelves of fabric samples and threads and accessories line the walls. She’s standing in a costume designer’s dream house, wondering why the fuck Fen decided to bring her here.

“You said you were planning to stay here longer,” Fen says, walking up to her, “so I thought you might like something to wear, since, well, your spares were wrecked last night in the storm.”

“I can’t pay for any of this,” Margo says.

“Fen’s paying, I bet.” The seamster lays a hand on Fen’s shoulder and winks at Margo. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Tansy.”

Margo shakes their hand, feeling heat flush her cheek. “You really didn’t have to.”

“It’s my gift. For you helping out with Fray last night.”

Any argument Margo wants to put out is shut down when she sees how excited Fen looks, like she’d been waiting to drag Margo out all day to give her a surprise. She couldn’t find it in her heart to refuse, so she nods and lets Tansy guide her to a raised platform. Fen thanks her friend before heading out the back door with the promise to pick Margo up before dinner time, vanishing into the fields again to run her own errands. 

Tansy brings out a tape measure that suspends in the air of its own accord. It begins to stretch out to different lengths as Margo watches, stopping for a few seconds each time to let Tansy write the numbers down. “Cloak looks cute on you,” they say. “Fen gave it to you?”

“How could you tell?”

“You dress like Josh did when Fen brought him in. Fen made me convert him to Fillorian fashion over time. Not gonna lie, I think I stole his style when I gave him a new wardrobe. Well, some of it.” They wrinkle their nose. “The khaki pants had to be burned.”

Margo laughs, imaging Tansy staring at Josh with his schoolboyish cotton button-downs and khakis like they’re wondering about the rationale behind a fabric that’s thin yet unbreathable, and adding a bowtie on top of that.

“The patterns, though, I liked. Geometric shapes. Printed, I assume—I couldn’t get them made quite the same by sewing.”

Upon closer inspection, their tunic has golden details around the seams in diamond shapes that overlap and form a jagged link. The cuffs of the sleeves match the pattern as well as the edges of the [neckline] collar. All the patterns are understated but effective and stitched with a steady hand.

“I like how you’ve adapted it.”

Tansy asks Margo to raise her arms up on both sides while the tape measure wraps itself around her chest, waits, then unwinds again. “I admire practicality over pretty gowns most days, except for a dance or something nice. Long skirts get caught up in everything, you know? My gran used to give me such a hard time of it. And my dad. They had the shop before me. Used to be old-fashioned ‘till I took over and switched things up.”

“I hear you about the skirts,” Margo agrees. She’d grown out of her dress phase except for special occasions these days. Spending time in Fillory as a small girl had exposed her to all kinds of royal extravagance, especially the clothes, and princess wear is not exactly something she wants to take into her future. Not when pieces from that part of her past are still missing.

After all the measurements are done, Tansy steps away and walks around the platform, occasionally lifting the hem of her cloak before letting it fall. “The green suits you,” they say. “It almost looks like this cloak was made for you. It’s strange—Fen says it was in her mom’s wardrobe, but I’d never seen anyone wearing it. Unless it was a visitor who had it,” Tansy adds as a second thought, “maybe. I wouldn’t have remembered, so.”

“The shield, right? How does that work, exactly?”

“No one born outside Silentspell can find it from the outside,” Tansy recites. “They must be taken in by one of our own, and if they leave, they can’t find their way back. I’m sure you know that part. But also, it doesn’t set off right away, this memory-loss magic that’s built-in. There’s a bit of time for someone to turn back if they change their mind. They’ll remember how to find their way back until the next sunrise. After that? Nothing. And all of us here forget about them, too.”

“That’s not a lot of time.”

A day ago, Margo would have run off after whatever lead she’d found on El without thinking about leaving the village behind. She’d caused Fen enough trouble as it was with the storm season and all that shit, and it’s not like Fen would miss her more than her other guests. But something changed last night when Margo had invited Fen into her room. She’d done it because she felt bad, leaving her to sleep out by the fireplace. She hadn’t expected them to talk. And she had asked for Fen’s story without realizing she’d forget all of it if she had to leave. 

Tansy nods. “We don’t expect most people to come back. Fray running off last night? That was a real close call. I heard what happened. Thank the Gods you ran after her.”

“Fray wasn’t born here?”

“Ahh.” They wince. “I’m guessing Fen didn’t say too much about her? Well, it’s not my place to tell you the whole story. That’ll be up to Fen. But no, Fray wasn’t born in this village. So. Thanks. Again.”

Margo hadn’t known any of this when she’d run out after Fray last night. She’d done it because it was cold as fuck out there, not because of the shield. And now it makes sense that Fen’s going out of her way to thank Margo.

“I did what I could,” Margo insists. “Anyone would’ve done it.”

Tansy shrugs and doesn’t press. “Take off the cloak for me?”

It’s strange to be standing in a cream white sweater and skinny jeans and ankle boots in a shop filled with Fillorian fashion. Margo stands there feeling like she’s nude and continues to look around, hoping Tansy decides on something soon.

“That’s an interesting pendant.”

“Oh.” Margo looks down, surprised to find the tetraglass orb dangling from its chain around her neck. She’d worn it for years and never taken it off, and most days she’d forgotten it was there. “My mom gave it to me.”

“It’s magic?”

“How’d you know?”

“My brother.” Tansy’s voice falters, but they don’t look away. “He was the one to enchant everything here after we came back.”

“Came back? Like, you all left the village?”

Margo remembers Fen talking about people leaving Silentspell last night. She’d said most of her friends were among those who went off to find an apprenticeship elsewhere, but she’d assumed Tansy had stayed.

“We thought business might be better if we weren’t so isolated. But it’s madness out there. People were going hungry, some even stealing from each other. Magic used to hold everything in place. Once that’s been sucked dry from the land, well... Whatever extra money we had wasn’t worth all that trouble. My parents and gran stayed, but my brother and I changed our minds and came back.”

All Margo can do is nod. She can’t say she’s sorry if she doesn’t know what actually happened to their brother.

“Fen, though,” Tansy’s tone brightened with a hint of teasing. “She was right here waiting for me. I could tell she missed me.”

“You’ve been friends since you were kids?”

“Oh yeah. There were ten of us who started school the same year. Saw each other’s faces all day, every day. We got real tired of each other, but Fen? We all loved Fen. But when we went out looking for work she didn’t come with. I’d expected it, though. She would’ve stayed, if anyone.”

Margo can’t help but smile as she pictures a younger version of Fen skipping down the same street all these years, a backpack slung over her shoulders in a pink dress. This was the part of Fillory she’d never gotten to know, and she lets herself wonder about what it would have been like to grow up here. Not in the castle, but _here_. 

“Fen does seem to love this village.”

“She’s the best thing that ever happened to it. Stepped up and opened the Inn a couple of years back, then word got around and people started showing up at the border. We’ve got the talking animals to thank for that—the shield, the memory magic thing, that only affects humans. Good thing we already had that observation tower up, too. It used to be for intruders. Lorians. Not wary travelers.”

“I’m glad you’re all open to it. Letting us in.”

“We help out where we can,” Tansy says. “Especially Fen. But don’t tell her that. She’ll just blush and insist it was all of us.”

“Sounds like Fen.”

“Some of us took a long time to accept visitors. Children of Earth, especially. But we need all the help we can get. It gets busy around here, especially before Midwinter.”

“I take it most of the business owners don’t come back like you did?”

“Right. And also… well, we lost a lot of the men. Some of our own friends. My brother.”

Margo doesn’t say anything. If Tansy wants to tell her, they can. But for now, they walk to a shelf and pulls out a few folded samples. Margo follows, and they lift up one of the ready-made clothes they’d picked, a cream white blouse with an underlayer of the same color for warmth and holds it out in front of Margo. 

They nod and hand the blouse to her, and a couple more tries later, Margo is holding three blouses and two pairs of riding pants, grateful that Tansy had taken practicality into account and given her something she could move in, gender norms be fucked. All the colors are earth-toned just like the green cloak, too.

“And your boots.” Tansy looks down at her feet. “I’d wear them if it weren’t for the snow.”

Margo would have argued, but the boots are already beaten down after three days in this Fillorian hellish winter—and she wasn’t even outside the shield. She truly did not think this through when she’d prepared for this trip. So she shrugs and relents, and once Tansy finds a pair of fur-lined boots in storage that happens to fit Margo, they make her try on everything and mark off places with chalk, tailoring everything to fit her right. 

“See, my dad would have insisted on making everything from scratch. But sometimes we’re in a crunch, and ready-made samples save lives. Yeah? But if you ever find yourself in need of something grand? Say, a wedding gown?” They wink. “Then I’ll design something special.”

“Ha-ha.”

“You never know. Maybe someone here will catch your fancy.”

Margo rolls her eyes, hiding her cringe. She hopes Tansy hadn’t heard they’d shared a bed together. Surely, here it would have been considered scandalous. But she isn’t gonna give anything away lest she wants to prove Tansy right, so she sits by their desk and watches them sew and thanks them for everything.

“No worries. Keeps me busy when everyone else refuses to leave their cottage,” Tansy says. 

They fall into silence again as Tansy finishes things off. Margo takes the white blouse and brown riding pants and changes into them, and they fit her in a way she doesn’t recognize in herself. It’s not exactly what she’s used to, but she finds that she doesn’t mind.

As they sit at the edge of the fitting platform and wait for Fen to come back, Tansy looks out the shop window to see the street is empty, then turns to Margo with a meaningful look. 

“None of us are happy with the King,” they lower their voice as if afraid Irene could hear them out here. “And not everyone wants to hide out here and hope the problem solves itself. So some of the guys—my brother among them—decided to storm the castle and try to take her down. No one knows what became of them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” Tansy wrings their hands. “One day, I hope to find out.”

* * *

Once out of the Seamster’s, a new outfit and a set of spares clothes in tow, Fen leads Margo across the field and pulls them through a combination of tunnels that bring them to the closest they can to the Inn. Sure, they could’ve walked from Tansy’s shop back to the Inn, but the day after the height of the storm is bad enough to freeze their tits off.

“How many shortcuts are there? Like, a dozen?” Margo asks.

Margo lowers her head as they walk against the edges of the building, trying to bypass most of the wind that runs through the streets, threatening to uproot trees and all that other nonsense. The Inn is at the end of the road, so close yet so far.

“Try two.”

They inch toward the next building and take a moment by the shop’s window to catch their breaths before picking up pace again.

“How the fuck do you remember them?”

“The tunnel spells have been here for generations,” Fen explains. “Some of the village ancestors must have enchanted them to make harvest easier. The whole Kingdom thrives on magic, see.”

“You don’t say.”

The sarcasm makes Fen chuckle. Then Fen holds out her hand and nods at the Inn, raising her eyebrow in challenge, and before she can overthink it, Margo takes her hand. Fen breaks off at a sprint and tows Margo alongside her. The wind is still blowing full speed against them, whipping Margo’s skin raw, but she curses under her breath and fights off against it, desperate to be inside somewhere warm and toasty as soon as possible.

When they reach the porch at the front of the Inn, Margo nearly trips over the stairs but hangs on to the rails in time. Fen isn’t so fortunate. She runs into the door and lets out a shriek that makes Margo giggle, then recovers her dignity instantly and opens the door to let them in. 

Margo drops off the bag of clothes in her room before going into the kitchen to join Fen. They’ve got more stew to make now that the first batch had nearly all gone thanks to the too-many patrons crammed up in this place. A few of the staff are already there, two stationed at the stoves, stirring chicken inside giant pots, and three more peeling herbs and chopping ginger across the counter. Josh is by the corner where the leftover stew from yesterday sits in a separate pot, prepping the last of them to serve.

“Not just magic from our Gods, I meant,” Fen tells her. “A lot of people born here are gifted with magic, more than other places around the galaxy, and they’re always experimenting, trying to change things to make life easier. Over time I think the ecosystem adapted itself to expect it all the time.”

Fen tows a sack of potatoes from the shelves and places them on the counter, next to a large wood basin already filled with water. She picks out a few from the bag and hands them to Margo, who washes them in the water that turns out to be warm, almost steamy, perfectly good after a run-in with mother fucking nature.

“What about now?” Margo asks. 

Fen peers at her, a quizzical look on her face. 

Way to go, bitch. Margo stops herself. She’s a visitor here. She’s new. Sure, she might’ve done her research in order to find this place at all, per her cover story, but is she supposed to know Fillory is falling to shit thanks to that bitch Irene McAllister’s rise to the throne nearly two decades ago? That’s not suspicious at all. 

“I… saw parts of the woods,” Margo explains, setting the clean potatoes on a chopping board. “When I was wandering about. And it feels to me like… I don’t know.”

“Like all the trees have stopped breathing?”

Margo stares at Fen in surprise. 

Fen gives her a sad smile. “The trees aren’t dead. They always turn green when they’re supposed to in spring, give us shade in the summer, and each fall, we’d see beautiful red and orange and gold leaves. But it feels to me like they’re cut off. From all the other trees in the woods, and the talking animals who make their homes there. It’s—” she stops and looks down, a little embarrassed—“I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Margo insists. “What were you saying about the trees?”

Alice used to do the same thing. She’d blurt out everything she knows when something sparks her interest before stammering an apology. Margo would always tell her to finish the thought. And even though Alice has been out of her life in years, she finds herself doing the same thing with everyone who holds back. 

Margo hasn’t thought about her ex-girlfriend in months. It took a long time for Margo to stop imagining how she could have stopped Alice from leaving that day, but sharing her bed with Fen last night brought the memory of her ex-girlfriend right back. Because sleeping with Fen had felt good. Sleeping, as in not fucking, or kissing, or cuddling, but curling up all cozy-like, talking into the night before sleep overtook them both. 

And Margo wants to do it again.

“Just that they’re all missing something,” Fen finishes quickly, but her smile tells Margo she appreciated the attention. “A lot of the magic that used to belong to the land was redirected. Rumors say the High King has been using them to power her own spell. Something greater than what most human magicians could conceivably accomplish.”

“Tansy told me a lot of people are unhappy with how the King rules,” Margo says, wondering what Fen thinks of the shaky moral grounds that Irene McAllister is standing on during her little reign of terror. “And they said some people tried to storm the castle and overthrow the King. I take it no one had come close?”

“Did they tell you how many returned?”

“No. But they made it sound like a death sentence, so… I’m guessing zero?”

Fen pauses there and turns away to pass Margo more potatoes to wash. Then she walks around the counter, stands across Margo, and drags the chopping board with the clean potatoes over to her side. “Very few,” Fen says. 

“Oh. Do you know them?”

“I do.” Fen picks up a knife. 

This would be good to know. If anyone could survive Irene’s attacks, maybe Margo could learn something from them. Something that’ll keep her alive. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she chooses her words carefully, “how did they manage to come back?”

Fen studies the blade against the torchlight on the wall behind her for a moment. Before Margo can take the question back, she says, “They changed their mind before it was too late. Otherwise, they would have suffered the same fate.”

Something tells Margo there’s something else that Fen knows but isn’t willing to say, but after making Josh keep her secret, she can’t bring herself to force someone else to break a promise of the same type. So she nods and lets it go, and joins Fen at her side of the counter after all the potatoes are clean. She picks up a knife from the knife block standing in the middle of the counter, but Fen stops her.

“Let me see that.”

Margo hands it to her, realizing this is the perfect moment to bring up Fen’s knife skills. 

“It’s dull,” Fen tells her. “I’ll sharpen it tomorrow. Try another.” 

“You know about knives?” Margo picks up another knife from the block and looks at it. She can’t tell a difference between the one she’s holding and the one Fen had rejected.

Margo looks up again to see Fen beaming. If she hadn’t been trying to trick Fen, she would’ve found the smugness endearing. “Who do you think made all these?”

All this time Margo had been wondering how to steer her conversations with Fen back to the Forge and see if she’ll reveal where she makes her knives. And here she is, offering everything without question. If she finds the Blade tomorrow, she’ll be out of here before midnight, on her way to rid this dying Kingdom of the curse that is Irene McAllister. 

Margo begins to peel her potato, trying her best to sound casual. “So you’ve got a knife workshop upstairs?”

“Not upstairs, but I have a Forge across the village.”

“But everywhere’s frozen as shit in this weather.”

“Not there.”

“What’s special about there?”

Margo can feel Josh looking at her from across the kitchen, but she doesn’t turn to meet his eyes. She knows what Josh is trying to tell her. Now is not too late to tell Fen the truth. And she does consider it—truly, and against all reason, she wonders if it would really be so bad to stay here another day. Or two. Or a week. Or until it stops snowing completely.

Cut the fucking bullshit.

She clears away the thought and grits her teeth, annoyed at herself for indulging in an impossible fantasy. Getting rid of Irene means luring Everett out, and she has a score to settle with both of them. And then—then she has a chance to find El now that Gallop told her El had found the Great Cock and received his Quest, and he’s likely living in another land, finally free.

“If you would like to join me,” Fen says after a moment of pondering, “I can show you.”

“It’s a date,” Margo says before she can give in to her guilt, her tone deliberately teasing. 

Her heart drops. She wants to take back her words, but she stays quiet as Fen begins dicing her potatoes. 

Margo can’t afford to try and look for another way, or come clean to Fen now and hope for forgiveness. The last time she saw Everett, she could already tell he’s becoming too strong. All she has to do is go into the Darkling Woods, find the Cock in question, and ask where he’d sent El. She can’t throw the chance away for a charmed little village by the woods and a stranger who grew up in a different world.

Okay. A cute stranger, cute in a sweet, huggable, I-wanna-hold-your-fucking-hand kind of way. Which makes it so much harder, but it has to be manageable. Margo finds a lot of women cute and very rarely does she act on the information. She’s here to find a God-powered murder weapon, not find someone to kiss under the God-damned mistletoe.

It’s that 0.2% cocaine in the air within this shield trying to draw her in. That’s all there is, and all there’ll ever be. 

The rest of the shift passes by quickly. When the stew is all cooked and the pots all sealed for tomorrow, they eat their late dinner in mostly silence before trudging back into the kitchen to wash their own bowls. By the end of it all, Margo wants nothing else but to sleep her thoughts away and deal with the dumpster fire that is her situation come tomorrow morning. She walks out after everyone else, and Fen bids her a quick goodnight before heading upstairs to find Fray. 

Margo almost stops Fen to ask if she wants to share her bed another night, but she recovers fast enough to keep her mouth shut.

As Margo makes her way across the lobby to head to her room, the front door opens again, shooting another blast of wind through the entirety of the fucking lobby, and five people walk in, all of them dressed like they’d jumped into this village straight from Earth. Margo freezes when she meets the gaze of the tall, curly-haired stranger standing in front of his companions. He stares back at her, his mouth wide open in disbelief. 

“Margo,” he says.

Whatever fraction of strength Margo has left immediately fades, and she finds herself frozen to the spot, staring up at the face of the friend she had been truly searching for. 

_Eliot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Margo initially: Must. Be. Focused. On. Goal.
> 
> Margo now: Fashionably smitten and miffed about it. Has yet to accept her shippy fate.


	13. Rain keeps falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot taught Q how to dance, but he wasn’t the only one smitten.

**April 2008**

Quentin introduced Eliot to Julia two days after they met outside the METS, and immediately, she had given him a look that said _“I don’t trust you”_. To Julia’s credit, though, she’d kept her mouth shut for another two months—for Quentin’s sake, not Eliot’s. Eliot knew he should come clean, because Quentin was part of the Quest, but every day Quentin saw Eliot as more of a friend and less like a chatty stranger who’d pestered him outside a museum, and every day, it was that much more tempting to avoid it all. 

But then, eleven months ago, Q got in the hospital again, and Julia was the one to track Eliot down and tell him what happened. Julia had stood in front of Harriet’s place until he came out, and she’d pleaded with him to give away some of his secrets. 

Eliot thought telling the truth would mark the end of his friendship with both Questers, but it turned out to be a much nicer beginning. 

When Eliot finally came clean about everything—magical demonstrations included, of course, since this was Julia Wicker he was talking to, and Julia Wicker never accepted claims without evidence—when he told her where he had come from, and the part about the Quest, she looked at him, nodded, and towed him to the hospital to relay everything to Quentin. 

They had both been okay with it, as it turned out, after the initial shock wore off. After the nurses came to collect Quentin and bring him back to his room because visiting hours were over, and Eliot waited all night back home for a reaction from either of them, hoping for the worst. The next morning, Eliot came back to the hospital and found Julia already in Q’s room by his bedside, and they told Eliot things were okay. 

Two weeks after this, Quentin was released, and Jules and Q became frequent visitors at Harriet’s place, each time investigating the shelter like they were some kind of magic archeologist. As time went on, Q seemed to be… well, he was still Q, so Eliot talked him through his existential crises twice a week, but Q was more okay than he had been before he knew about magic. Q had something else about his life that made him get out of bed each day. And when Q knocked over a mug on Harriet’s kitchen counter and shrieked as it began to mend itself on the ground where it had shattered, things got even better.

Around the same time Eliot shared his story, Eliot also hit his growth spurt and grew ten inches in the span of a year, his shift into ostensible adulthood clearly long overdue. Kady, who hit puberty around the same time—by magic or some other weird coincidence, or just to spite Eliot—was pleased about her own change in height, too. El would have been overjoyed that he no longer looked like a child, except Q hadn’t grown nearly as much, if at all, which meant it was harder for Eliot to look him in the eye without craning his head down.

Which was inconvenient, to say the least.

Still, as weird as it was for Eliot to grow into the tall, lanky physique he had clearly meant to be all along, genetically speaking or whatever, some good things came of all this. Being taller meant that when Eliot taught Quentin how to dance, he had the right to lead, no matter how much Q pretended to be miffed about it. Eliot had listened to a dozen books on proper waltz etiquette during his time at the Library and learned what the drab, authentic customs were, of course, but Margo’s waltz was the type he’d learned, and in Margo’s waltz, the lead was whoever’s taller. 

For their third waltz lesson on a Thursday night—a school night, but who gave a fuck?—Eliot met Q in Central Park after dark. They found a lamp post to dance under, somewhere away from most pedestrians. Eliot guided Q through the basics, humming _You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away_ by the Beatles under his breath—Harriet’s collection of records were massively outdated in just the right way. 

Eliot wasn’t teaching the dance to Q out of the goodness of his heart. Not completely, anyway. Q had asked Eliot to show him how to waltz because the dance at his school was coming up, and he had wanted to ask someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to until he learned enough not to embarrass himself. And Eliot had a good guess on who he wanted to ask. He had read enough of Quentin’s book, heard more about Q’s crush on Julia than he was comfortable knowing. 

“Maybe I should stay off the actual dance. Hang out by the punch bowls,” Quentin decided.

“Laaaaame.” Eliot gave Quentin a wry grin before lifting his arm and telling his dance partner to spin in a circle. 

“Lamer than if I try to dance?” Quentin laughed.

Eliot hummed the tune louder in retaliation, refusing to stop. “It’s a side Quest. You must.”

Quentin chuckled and gave a one-shouldered shrug. Eliot winked back. It was so hard to get a happy emotion out of Q, and every time Eliot’s humor cut through, Eliot felt damn pleased with himself like he’d taken down some kind of Beast. It had been impossible to get a smile out of Q eleven months ago, much less this. Julia had been the one to bring him out of the funk back then, so as much as Eliot wished Q thought of him the way he thought of his best friend, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Jules—she reminded him of Margo in all the right ways. The part where she saved her best friend, especially.

“Can I ask you something about—” Quentin lowered his voice and leaned closer—“you know.”

“You can say magic,” Eliot teased. “No one suspects the real thing. The muggles associate it with rabbits in top hats.”

“You’ve read Harry Potter?” Q’s face brightened. He and Jules had been pestering Eliot about it since Christmas. 

“I may or may not have acquired audiobooks from one of Harriet’s guys.”

Quentin gave him an unamused look.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” Eliot drawled, “not everyone is a high-strung supernerd. But go ahead with your question.”

“Are we born with our powers? Or did one of the Gods out there give it to us?”

“I had the same question once, when I was in the Neitherlands.” Eliot took a step back and guided Quentin to follow along. “Zelda had a theory. She said multiple timelines sometimes create multiple universes, depending on when the split happened. Or, well, it’s theoretically possible. Horomancy’s a bunch of convoluted shit I don’t have time to dig into.”

“And?”

“Zelda said, in this universe,” Eliot recited, swaying side to side with Quentin in his arms, “magic in humans is born, not made. In another universe, maybe magic comes to a person later in their life after something major happens. Something life-changing. Some master magicians say that magic in humans might’ve been an accident to begin with, like a little smudge the Gods left when they were trying to create all of their other shit, you know? And since it already came to being, the Gods decided to roll with it. See what happens. But the Gods decided to try and choose the people who get to have magic way ahead of time. Like, before they were born.”

“Like it was predetermined?”

A few droplets of rain fell onto Eliot’s head. Fuck this city and this may-or-may-not-turn-into-a-full-on-downpour rain. Eliot ignored it, and so did Quentin. They had time.

“Maybe. I mean, time doesn’t mean shit to immortals, right? They could’ve taken a peek into the future of humanity as a whole, and then our own, personal future possibilities, and thought, oh, hey, this person here looks like they can handle magic.”

“I wish I could speak to one of them.” Quentin stopped dancing. A few raindrops fell on the shoulder of his jacket. “One of the Gods. See what that’s like.”

“You will,” Eliot reminded him. “The Quest, remember?”

Quentin’s eyes brightened, then faded when he remembered El’s entirely tragic backstory, “You’d still go back? After everything?”

“I’m not one to break a promise.”

Q watched him speak, his eyes drawn to Eliot’s lips, his hands around Eliot’s waist like he was debating something. With a smile, Quentin parted his own lips slightly. Eliot lowered his head without question. They heard thunder rolling in the distance.

“I should—”

“Yeah—”

They spoke at the same time and broke away, each taking a step back. Quentin shoved his hands inside the pockets of his jeans.

“Go home before the rain gets worse,” Eliot said, swallowing his disappointment. He wouldn’t want Quentin to catch a cold. He wouldn’t. This was fine.

“I’ll go home.” Quentin gave him a slow wave. “Bye.”

Then he turned right and walked off, hurrying up his pace.

“Q?” Eliot called out. 

Quentin stopped and turned.

“Subway’s that way.” Eliot pointed left.

“Right.”

“Bye,” Eliot added, feeling lame.

Within another minute, Q was out of sight, and Eliot cursed himself for almost trying to kiss the boy. The two of them were fine being just friends. Eliot had to go and ruin it and make it weird and make the rest of the Quest, shitty, awkward, _impossible_. The fucking Quest that would take years to finish.

And yet, as Eliot walked home that day, slouching and stomping hard against the sidewalk, he wondered if Quentin would have kissed him back, had they not been stopped by the thunder.

*

**May 2008**

Three weeks after the dance at Central Park, Eliot was still not over the almost-kiss. 

Eliot had grown used to wallowing, too, since Harriet’s place was the best spot for sulking. Harriet lived underground in midtown Manhattan between office buildings. The apartment was comfortable despite being below ground, three bedrooms and two baths plus a study full of old records and VCRs. At the front of the apartment, past the foyer, was a vast, open space: kitchen, living room, and a half-dozen retractable tables leaning against the corner, waiting to accommodate Harriet’s messengers. 

Harriet’s illusions rendered the front door impossible to most and warded the apartment from infiltration. In addition, she’d made the walls soundproof to cover her bases. Eliot thought the apartment was as cozy as a doomsday bunker could get. Cozy enough for him to call home and drop his bullshit. So when Eliot was feeling lovesick, as he had been for three weeks, he did everything as instructed in romance movies: curled up in his couch to watch sad black-and-white films on VCR tapes on a rainy night in. 

His plan was foiled an hour after sundown when someone knocked on the door. 

Eliot waited for Harriet to get it, like he and Kady were instructed to do in case of intruders. Harriet walked across the foyer and cast a spell over the door before peering out. A few seconds later she turned. 

_Who’s out there?_ Eliot signed. He’d been learning ASL from Kady since he moved in two years ago. While Kady was fluent by now, Eliot spent twice as long trying to piece the words together. ASL was tough work, but the smile on Harriet’s face the first time Eliot signed _thank you_ at fourteen made him stick with it.

_Your boy._ Harriet winked.

Eliot blushed. _Maybe_ he blushed. He walked past Harriet too fast to notice, and she retreated into her own room without further comment. 

“Hey.” Eliot frowned and opened the door. “Thought we weren’t meeting up ‘cause of the rain.”

“Julia has magic,” Quentin blurted out, stuttering his next words in rapid fire succession. “I mean—I mean you already told me. Told us. About our gifts. Gifts? Sparks? Because—well, my-my book an-and it talked about my magic an-and Jules was part of the Quest, too, right? Part of the Quest. You read that.”

It took Eliot a few seconds to decipher what Quentin was asking. “Yes?”

Quentin opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then started again, “Julia’s power woke.”

The poor boy was soaking all the way through, his hair plastered to his forehead and the sides of his face, slumping and shivering in the gray hoodie he’d thrown on as an inadequate substitute for an umbrella. But here Quentin was raving about magic outside Eliot’s door. What the fuck had Eliot’s life come to?

“Come inside, Q.” Eliot put a hand on Q’s shoulder and pulled him in, shut the door, then forced him all the way over to the bathroom. “Bath. Now. Towel’s behind the door.”

“That’s not what I—”

“ _Bath._ ”

Twenty minutes later, Quentin was sitting on Eliot’s bed in a borrowed robe, avoiding Eliot’s gaze as he sipped on a cup of tea. Eliot waited for him, wondering what was so urgent about Jules’ gift that he couldn’t have talked about over the phone. But this was Quentin Coldwater. And Quentin Coldwater was hardly ever sensible when he was excited, and Eliot loved that about him—and Eliot needed to stop being a sap.

Eventually Quentin found his voice and set down the tea. “Jules made sparks fly earlier today. In her house. After school. I was there because I—never mind, not relevant. I don’t know what discipline that is. The sparks. I think she blew out the fuse.”

Eliot whistled.

“But that’s not why I’m here.”

Quentin was staring at Eliot now, looking everywhere but his eyes, and the scrutiny was making Eliot question his outfit of choice. “Then why are you here?”

“I don’t have a dance partner.”

Eliot blinked twice. “You know the dance is in two days.”

“I was hoping,” Quentin said slowly, then looked around, suddenly realizing something, “Jesus, I had a rose and everything. It was in my bag, but I left it at Julia’s—”

“The Trader Joe’s around the block sells flowers. I don’t know if they’re still open. I could go and—”

“ _El._ ” Q was trying to look serious, but the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth made it impossible. “Will you come to the dance with me?”

“Me?”

“Y-yes?”

“You wanted to ask me?”

“You don’t have to”—Quentin turned away—“I—sorry, I’m—”

“I thought,” Eliot explained, “you were going to ask Jules.”

“Oh.” Quentin was looking down at his lap now, wringing his hands. “You read that, huh.”

“Sorry.”

“It wasn’t—I mean, it’s okay. Well, it’s not okay, but it’s—I wanted to ask, that day at the park. When we danced. But then it rained, and it’s raining now but I couldn’t wait again because—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Eliot reached over and lifted Q’s chin. “Okay. I’ll come to the dance with you.”

The thunderstorm raged on for the rest of the night, and Harriet insisted that Quentin stayed in. Q would’ve been sleeping over at Julia’s anyway, so his parents didn’t suspect anything. And Jules was perfectly clear on where Q actually was. Quentin climbed into bed with Eliot that night and stayed very strictly to his side, which was a shame, but he did turn to face Eliot and smile his cute nerd smile as they turned off the lights, and that was better than okay. 

“You do know Jules already has a date, right?” Quentin asked.

“What? Who?”

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Everything clicked into place as Eliot peered out his bedroom door, having been given very strict instructions by Harriet to keep it open. The door to Kady’s room was open, too, and the lights were all off inside. Eliot hadn’t seen Kady since three in the afternoon. Well… Kady hadn’t been home in the evenings at all for a week.

If Kady had been home when Quentin asked Eliot to dance, she would have eavesdropped, or straight up leaned against the frame of Eliot’s open door and raised an eyebrow and dared Eliot to say yes. Kady would have snorted and called him an idiot. And she would have been right.

“You,” Quentin stated, closing his eyes and burrowing deeper into their shared blanket, “are a terrible brother.”

“The worst,” Eliot admitted, an impossible grin splitting his face. The day Julia followed Eliot home, fifteen months ago, Kady had introduced herself as his sister. And while Kady’s friendship with the girl had begun as a means of distraction from her snooping-around, the girls continued talking after Eliot came clean about his past. Eliot, though, was too stuck up in his own lovesick ass to notice the signs.

Eliot watched Q mumble in his sleep for Gods knew how long before he finally dozed off, too, wondering what it was about rain that made feelings so insufferable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the soft Queliot interlude in this otherwise stressful mess of a plot :)


	14. Part Eight: Eliot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot speaks to Margo for the first time in fourteen years. There are hugs.

**Five Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

Eliot and Margo sit in a haystack behind Gallop’s stable after a quick chat with their old friend. It’s only mid-afternoon, but Eliot has a feeling they’ll be here ’till sundown. There are so many things he wants to say to Margo: that he misses her; that he had wanted to wait to find her after everything’s settled, but the White Lady said she was already after the Blade; that he was afraid she’d forgotten about him. 

She clearly hasn’t forgotten. By the way she’d frozen still in her tracks when she ran into him at the Inn earlier, he knew. He’d changed a whole lot over the years, but she had recognized him instantly as the lost little boy she’d taken in as her friend. 

After a moment of silence, opening and closing and opening his mouth again, he says, “You’ve grown out your hair.”

“I started to, after I went back to Earth.” She picks up a strand and wraps it around her hand, then drops it. “Thought it’d make me look more like a princess than a doll. Grew out my bangs, too, when I was ten.”

Eliot nods. 

“And you.” She prods him in the chest and glowers, unable to hide her smile. “You’re taller.”

The indignance in her tone reminded him of Margo as a child. the person he imagined she’d grow up to be, the same He puffs out his chest, perfectly smug-like. “So you’ve noticed. Took me a few years. Kady and I got hit with the same growth spurt—drove Harriet nuts, trying to get us new clothes. We used to be the tiniest little shits.”

“Is that where you lived? With Harriet?”

“Yeah. She took Kady in when she was ten. Four years later I barged my dumb ass into New York City from the Neitherlands and Kady picked me off the streets.”

Eliot stops before he can tell her about Mira. Margo deserves to know the truth, but he doesn’t know much beyond what little Mira had revealed about Hannah. Margo looks at him expectantly, sensing his doubt.

He takes a deep breath. “I saw your mom in the Neitherlands.”

“You—what? Fuck,” Margo mutters. She blinks twice. “When was this?”

“I was thirteen when I got there. Why?”

“She wasn’t in the Neitherlands when I was—never mind. Fuck.” She winces. “Not now. I… can’t right now.”

Eliot nods and decides to ask Margo about it later when things are calm. Right now all he wants to do is see her. He steps closer.

“Tell me the whole story,” Margo continues, edging away from her own revelation. “How the fuck you got out of Irene’s Fortress of Death and—the Neitherlands? You were there?”

Eliot starts from the day he escaped Whitespire and found the Great Cock, who sent him on the Quest, but told him he wasn’t in it alone. The years before he ran away, he doesn’t bring up; and if she’s wondering what he’s hiding, she doesn’t ask. He tells her that he spent a year at the Neitherlands Library before he made his way to New York to find the other Questers, the friends destined to return to Fillory alongside him.

“El,” Margo says, stopping him before he could bring up Quentin’s name, “is that why you risked your life to come back? For the Quest?”

“I’ve got what I need,” Eliot confirms. “So, yes. Normally I wouldn’t touch this Kingdom with a ten-foot pole, not after—well, you know; but the Cock wants what he wants. And he wants us to bring back the Gods.”

“Who, Ember and Umber?”

The Key grows warm from where it’s tucked underneath his cloak, and he jolts at the reminder. She holds out a hand to touch him and make sure he’s okay, but he beams at her as he pulls out the Key by the chain around his neck.

“Remember this?”

She gasps. “That was—”

“Your mom’s? Kind of. She had this Key for some time, but Ember and Umber were the ones who made it. It’s part of a matching set, some type of failsafe. And it wasn’t activated until fifteen years ago, on the day of the storm.”

Margo wrings her hands, staring at the seam of her gloves. “Where did you find it?”

“The Cock gave it to me. He said it was relinquished from an old Quester and passed on to his sister, the White Lady. All I had to do was find the other half, and with both, I can find Ember’s Tomb. Find the Gods. They’d hidden themselves when they heard someone was coming after their powers.”

“Everett Rowe?” Margo asks. “I know about him.”

Eliot nods, bracing himself for his next words. Hearing about the Compass would break Margo’s heart, but now that he and Margo are both on the path to destroy the wannabe-Gods, he can’t protect Margo from the truth without consequences. Vic had told Eliot about Margo’s search the day she brought the Compass back to Harriet’s base: that Margo had crossed paths with Everett twice and nearly given her life. He couldn’t begin to guess what parts of the story Vic had left out, but he didn’t need to be a psychic to understand it must have hurt.

“Everett’s after the failsafes, too. So we needed to find them before he did. We already had the Key. All we needed,” Eliot paused, “was the Compass.”

He’s already reaching out to her before she can say another word, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. She looks at him, and the pain in her eyes makes his breath hitch. “I’m sorry,” her voice shakes. “I’m so sorry, El. The Compass, I had it. And I lost it. Twice. I didn’t know—”

“You didn’t,” he tells her. He tilts her head up by the chin and watches her blink away a stray tear. “Vic told us what happened. Said you put up a good fight both times.”

Eliot brushes her cheek with his thumb once before he lets go, stopping her before she can spiral. He knows what it’s like to spiral. And he knows that even if it meant delaying his Quest for a few more years, he would never blame Margo; in her place, he would have done the same. 

“I wouldn’t call it that,” she admits. She relaxes under his touch, though, and he feels relief washing over him, too. “And Vic, she’s okay?”

“Last I saw her, yeah.” He thinks back to what Vic told him about where she’d been and how she’d come to find the Compass. All he remembers is Tan, Harriet’s right-hand magician who visits the base every week, bringing her in with a big grin on his face. “She said she was in a bit of trouble,” he relays what Vic told him. “But someone rescued her. She went back to them, whoever they were. Said she had someone else to find.”

Eliot waits for her to process all of this, noting with some surprise, as he looks around, that the sun is going down. What he’d just revealed is a lot to take in, so he doesn’t add anything else. Fifteen years is a long time to catch up, and at the moment, time is… well, who the fuck knows how long he’s got with Margo? But if they’re here now—

He loops his arm around her shoulder and waits for her to lean in to the touch. She does, arching an eyebrow in question. In response he goes all-in and pulls her into a hug, cradling the back of her head against his chest. When he was seven, he used to look up at her. Now it looks like his form can swallow them both. 

“Harriet knows about this Quest?” She tilts her head up, finishing the question she was about to ask before he pulled her in.

“You know about those biographies, up at the Neitherlands?” he asks. She nods. “Harriet read mine, apparently, way before I was even out of Fillory. Back then the book only had up to when I was fourteen, but she saw the part about the Quest. I mean, I only accepted it to get out of Fillory. I don’t regret it, of course; otherwise I wouldn’t have met Q, or Kady, or Harriet, or—you know, anyone. But it was Harriet’s decision to search for the Compass in my place after she took me in. She’s got friends in high places.”

“Why didn’t she tell you she had been searching?”

“Kady and I asked her before we left. And she said”—Eliot swallows, taking a deep breath—“she said she recruited people to build a network of some kind. A magical network. And not just to share all the magical knowledge that was locked up or stolen when rumors of a magic-power-thief started going around, but also to give us more time. Time to be, well… children. I think.”

That makes Margo smile. “I’m happy you got to live your life.”

“Me, too.”

Harriet didn’t really talk about her childhood beyond the fact that Zelda raised her in the Neitherlands Library, and she’d spent her days reading about faraway places, hoping to find the fountains to all of the worlds she wished to see. From the time he spent with Zelda, she’d told him she’d seen too much as a child. He can imagine Harriet growing up sheltered as a result of that. 

But Eliot’s teenage years were spent dueling with Kady, both of them aided by magicians from all walks of life who supported Harriet’s cause. And for a few hours each night before curfew, she’d let them wander the streets and see all corners of the city, their faces masked by her illusion charms. Harriet had shown him what his powers could do beyond hurting people, but more than that, she had let him live as Eliot; not a Quester, or a runaway Prince.

“I’m happy you got to live your life.” Margo smiles. “And clearly you’ve changed. You didn’t use to be a hugger.

“I’m making up for lost hugs,” he banters. “Now you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me.”

He has a feeling neither of them would mind that.

“Isn’t it weird that both of us came back at the same time?” she asks.

“Maybe it’s fate,” Eliot jokes, then stops, remembering why he was in Silentspell at all, and not on his way to Ember’s Tomb. Fuck. Why does fate have to be such a time-restricting bitch? “We found the White Lady. She gave us a way to find you. She told us you were looking”—he looks around, then lowers his voice—“for the Leo Blade.” 

She pulls away from him, a serious look in her eyes. “I’m close,” she whispers. “I think I know where to find it. I’m going tonight.”

“Do you need backup?”

“No.” She shakes her head and offers what is almost a reassuring smile. He can tell she’s holding back, but he doesn’t pry. Not now. “I won’t be alone, in case you’re worried,” she adds, a hint of teasing in her voice. “I’ve got company.”

“Margo.” Eliot turns Margo by the shoulders so she’s facing him and gives her his best stern look. “Margo, Margo, Margo. Are you going on a date?”

Her smile fades as fast as it appears, replaced by a wistful look in her eyes. He would have missed the shift in her expression he wasn’t looking. “We’ll see,” is all she says.

She doesn’t give him time to wonder about her unease before she stands. “It’s dinner time back at the Inn,” she explains, dusting the hay from her cloak. “I promised Fen I’d help with the stew. You coming back too?”

“In a bit,” he says. He’ll talk to Gallop, he decides. Maybe she needs the time to think. “Talk tomorrow?”

“Okay.”

“And Margo?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too.”

Gallop looks at Eliot expectantly when he walks around the stable. He opens the gate and treks inside. Everything he heard from Margo is swarming around his head in a jumble. And everything he’d told? Well, he wonders if she’s feeling the same as she walks back now, alone with her thoughts.

“Friendship is difficult,” Gallop tells him. “Especially after fifteen years apart. Fret not, Young Eliot. All fragments of your lives will be revealed to each other in time.”

“That’s why I’m worried,” Eliot says. “I don’t know how long we’ve got. What if we’re going to find Ember tomorrow? Or Whitespire? Or... fuck.”

“You have done well to rekindle your bond, as close friends do. All you can do now is trust that you have said enough to show each other the same care you had as children. And should the battle come tomorrow, I have no doubt you will protect each other.”

“I was hoping to protect her,” Eliot admits.

“But is this your fight alone?”

“You’ve got a point there. I mean, I did leave the planet and everything. Guess that screams abdication in Tick’s book. So, I mean, I don’t have to be the one to kill her. It’s not like I’m overthrowing her for my own power-trip. But, you know, I’d rather it’s me. Just in case, well…”

“You have always been keen to sacrifice yourself to protect the ones you love.” Gallop inclines his head slowly, understanding. “You have always been keen to sacrifice yourself to protect the ones you love. And I must say, though I respect your decision to leave the throne—I believe you would have made a fine King.”

“Maybe I would,” Eliot says. He pats his old friend once firmly around the neck, the way he likes it. “But this isn’t my Kingdom, so I’m giving it back.”


	15. Will you stand above me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady ran into a pickpocket who kept crossing her path. Penny, her new crush, introduced her to a long lost friend.

**June 2009**

Kady was chasing a girl when the bus nearly hit her. The girl was hurrying past the crowd, her auburn ponytail swinging back and forth as she quickened her pace. She couldn’t have been Marina, but Kady had to know. She had to be sure. 

Kady didn’t see the bus coming around the corner until she heard people’s panicked screams. She quickened her pace and braced herself, the start of a spell burning on her hands. It was too late to get away, but a boy blipped in front of her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and turned, both of them disappearing before they could become roadkill.

He transported them to a back alleyway in who the fuck knew where, and her first thought was to punch him. Her fist landed on his nose.

“Fuck!”

The boy clutched his nose where the punch had landed. Their eyes met, and his widened in panic. He darted away before she could ask him what the hell he just did. One block later he was gone again, vanishing into the air before she could chase him down.

It wasn’t until Kady found her way back to Harriet’s that she realized why he must’ve run. Fucker had stolen her locket, the illusion charm alongside it. Kady had become a different person right in front of his eyes, dropping the deceptive appearance meant to protect her, and if she weren’t furious about the locket, she would’ve felt sorry for the boy.

Kady didn’t remember what he looked like. Or perhaps she did. Dark hair and eyes. A purple vest unbuttoned. A golden chain necklace against the brown of his skin. A thief. 

Son of a bitch stole the last piece of Marina she had.

Kady tried to remember what he looked like as if she’d never see him again, but it had the opposite effect. He was everywhere she went, vanishing before she could touch him. A week later he appeared next to her at the farmer’s market on Madison Square, and the sheepish look in his eyes when she glared told her everything she needed to know. 

“I found your locket,” he said, pulling it out of the pocket of his vest. A blue vest this time—what was up with him and clothes without sleeves?

“ _Found_ it?” She snatched it from him, grabbing onto the chain. It turned her into another random face, the charm kicking in immediately upon touch. “Like fuck you did.”

Kady turned to walk away, thinking she’d never like to see his sorry face again. The sound of footsteps behind her told her she spoke too soon. “I’m sorry!” he called out. “I was just—I didn’t know it was an amulet! I didn’t know you needed it!”

“It’s not an _amulet_.” Kady turned back to face him. “It has my locket. And you stole it to sell?”

She could keep going on about how much of a dick he was. He was right there, and he wasn’t yelling back, but her next words died in her throat when looked at him, really looked. His skin was ashy, darkening the rims around his eyes.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Cassia told me it meant something. It’s… she said it’s not white gold or silver or anything, but she could feel it. Like it’s sentimental or something.”

“You’re a traveler.” She narrowed his eyes. “Who’s Cassia?”

“No one!” he said quickly. Then, with a frown, he added, “You know about this? Travelers?”

Kady guffawed. “Not all magicians are dudes with white beards and purple robes, or… vests, or whatever the fuck you’re wearing. And by the way? You’re a shit traveler.”

She saw him visibly relax at that. Immediately his mouth twitched into a teasing smile. It was infuriatingly contagious. What the fuck had gotten into her? What about Jules?

“I don’t know. I think I’m alright,” he said, smug enough that she wanted to punch him again. “I did save your life, so I mean, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you for saving my life.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m Kady. You’re starving.”

“Penny.”

* * *

**June 2009**

Against Penny’s protests, Kady dragged him home that day and shoved him in front of the door. Harriet ushered them inside, and Kady signed that Penny looked like he was starving. Harriet didn’t turn Penny away, but she gave Penny careful looks the whole time in case he took off with more of their shit. El, meanwhile, was texting to Quentin nonstop until Harriet made him hand over his phone and finish his chicken. 

Kady walked Penny home that night, and maybe it was because Kady brought him home, but he didn’t blip himself away like she expected. Instead, he walked her back to the pawnshop where he’d been working and crashing, only to find a familiar face behind the counter, more tired than she’d seen him last time. He used to have what Marina called a “pimp ponytail”, but he’d cut his hair and put on a suit like a real adult. 

The last time Kady saw Pete, Harriet untethered his soul from his magical core. Now Pete had grown up and finished high school and opened a shop of his own, collecting magic artifacts that no longer respond to his touch. He picked stray kids off the streets and gave them a place to crash so long as they worked part-time, perhaps inspired by his time as Marina and Kady's friends years ago.

And there was Cassia, a year older than her and, just as alone as the boys. She didn’t say much about her life, only that being in New York was a wish come true, even if Pete couldn’t make rent this month with what they’d managed to sell. Cassia had pointed nose and burning red hair, pretty in a sharp way, more so when Kady learned about her discipline. Cassia could tell the worth of an object by a single touch, and when she saw the locket dangling in front of Kady’s hoodie, she smiled and said it was worth much more when Kady wore it.

Kady told Harriet about the shop after she’d come home that day. Harriet bought Pete’s little antique shop in her name with more money than it was worth, and the old dude who inherited it from his great-grandfather didn’t refuse. Pete had insisted on paying Harriet the rent every month, but she’d waved him off. 

When Pete and Cassia were busy with the shop, Penny trained. Kady decided to tag along one day and nagged until he said yes. At first, he played it safe and took her to various corners of New York City, alleys carefully chosen so they’d be out of sight. Each time Kady had held his hand, watched the tattoos on his finger glow in sequence before they vanished, and tried to ignore the warmth of his skin, which sent a tremor down her spine. 

She wasn’t going to jeopardize what she and Jules had, whatever it was.

* * *

**May 2011**

“The Statue of Liberty again? Seriously?” Kady scoffed, staring out into the open water as she balanced herself on top of the steps. The closest ferry was a little white dot, the New York skyline not much taller than the shore. 

“A lot of people try to come up here on their own,” Penny said. “None of them complain about the ocean view.”

She rolled her eyes. “Boring. Ever tried zapping yourself outside of Earth?”

“I have to know how far I’d be going. An estimate. Easier to get back that way, and I don’t wanna lose us inside a volcano or something.”

“Fine. How about somewhere else in the States? Doable?”

Penny thought about it. Then he held out his hand again, and she clung on tight. This time it took a few more seconds for them to land. He’d transported them on top of a spire on the Golden Gate Bridge all the way in California. It was early afternoon over there, and they were way up, looking down at the valley and the bridge that goes on for miles.

Kady wobbled in her step and yelped, throwing her arms around Penny to break her fall. She didn’t realize what she was doing ‘till she looked up and saw the cheeky grin on his face, the one that always made her debate giving him another punch on the nose.

“I didn’t take you for a hugger.”

She let go and sat down, dangling her legs close to the edge between the rails. “Fuck off.”

“And let you have this view all by yourself?”

Kady glared but didn’t answer. He took it as an invitation to join her at the rails. They looked out at San Francisco, clouded in the mist that hovered around it. 

“If I were a traveler, I’d have gone away years ago,” Kady said. “You can literally go anywhere. Why’d you have to stay in the city?”

He didn’t answer her. Maybe the question was more personal than she’d intended. She was just about to take it back when he answered, “I traveled around a lot as a kid. Not my choice, but… caseworkers. You know? Show up at my home and tell me to pack up my shit and get in the van. Eventually I decided to move on my own somewhere, anywhere I chose.”

“You were a foster kid?”

“I was ‘till I ran away. That’s how I discovered I was a traveler, see—I hadn’t gotten that far. I was waiting for the next bus to take me to downtown Miami, and I saw this van down the road, driving slow like the driver was looking for someone. And I was desperate. I couldn’t go back. Next thing I knew I was here, freezing like shit.”

“Florida, huh?” She looked at him. “Should’ve known. You dress like a fisherman.”

“You really got to work on your compliments.”

This time Kady returned the smirk. “Who told you it was a compliment?”

“Ouch.”

“I was in the system, too,” she told him as a peace offering, her smile fading. “But I didn’t run. Harriet came and found me, but my sister, she…”

“Marina, right?”

Oh. Pete. Right.

Kady shrugged.

“Pete talks about what you two were like as kids,” Penny said. “He didn’t remember much of that day. But there was a guy in a suit? Stole his magic.”

“She got away. Pete wasn’t so lucky.”

“Well, he lived.” One day, Harriet would tell Pete what they did to intervene. But for now Kady remained silent. Penny frowned and added, “You ever wonder if you guys were, I don’t know—followed?”

“Sometimes shit happens because you picked a bad moment to fuck with fate.”

“Deep.”

“Hey,” she said out of the blue, cutting off the conversation before it could venture into some deep dark corner. “Jules invited me to the winter dance. Last one she’ll have at her school since she’ll be done in May. Q and El are going. You wanna come?”

“You want me to third-wheel on you and your girlfriend?”

“We’ll all go as friends. They’ve got extra tickets. Cassia already said yes. A lot of people are going as a group. Or alone. Apparently they’re hoping to click with someone on the dance floor. Typical high school movie bullshit. Harriet says she’s got illusion charms for all of us.”

“Do I have to wear a suit?”

“You don’t have to. But it’d be nice.”

The senior winter prom approached faster than either of them expected. On the day of the dance, Julia showed up at Harriet’s in a simple black dress with a long elegant skirt and a bunch of little white flowers pinned into her hair. She took Kady’s hand and kissed it, and said Kady looked like a Goddess, but Kady thought the title suited Jules more.

Penny, for his part, looked flustered in his borrowed suit that fitted him perfectly, especially when Julia gave him a wink. Kady suspected Pete had something to do with the alterations that hinted at the outlines of his biceps through the fabric, but she wasn’t gonna complain. She just wasn’t sure how anything was going to work when Julia wasn’t the only person she couldn’t take her eyes off of that night.

It turned out she’d been so stuck in her own worries, she hadn’t noticed Julia giving Penny the same wanting look before turning guiltily back to Kady. At the end of the evening, the rest of the school had grown tired of the dance floor and hung out around the punch bowls, not paying notice to Julia taking turns dancing with two strangers or Quentin doing the same with an unfamiliar boy whose face they’d never be able to remember. During the last waltz, Julia held Kady close and whispered in her ear, “Would you like Penny to join our dance?”

That night, after they’d all returned to Harriet’s, all too exhausted to give a fuck about returning to their respective sleeping quarters and/or homes, Kady slept peacefully for the first time in years, Penny stiff as a log on one side of her and Julia tossing and turning on the other, Julia’s shimmery lilac lip gloss smeared across Penny’s lips as well as Kady’s.


	16. Part Nine: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo goes on a may-or-may-not-be-a-date date with Fen in the Forge, surrounded by pretty knives and dark secrets.

**Five Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

The Forge is warm and inviting like the Silentspell Inn, both of them as hospitable as their keeper. 

Margo would have laughed at the irony if she hadn’t seen the path that led her and Fen down here to begin with. The greenhouse looks like a perfectly-cut diamond with its pointed end stuck deep inside the earth. For a village full of quaint wooden cottages and cobblestone lanes, it looks incredibly modern. Glass panels supporting the structure are all coated in a layer that reflects colors off of the surface like opals.

Fen had been waiting at the greenhouse when Margo arrived, and she’d taken Margo on a little tour of the inside, leading her down the coil-shaped winding path that spirals into the middle of the circular interior. The whole place is green upon green with flowers peeking out in between, all of them unrecognizable. They’d sat on one of the benches between beds of larger, bigger strange flowers and ate the picnic lunch that Fen had packed, a variety of pastries raided from Josh’s supplies. 

All of these things had been incredible in their own right, but they were nothing compared to the fact that the Forge is, in fact, underground, guarded by a single trapdoor in the middle of the greenhouse, right beside a stone fountain that holds a statue of Ember and Umber. 

The door doesn’t budge when Margo tries to lift it, and Fen chuckles and asks her to stand aside. She places her hand on the handle for three seconds before the door springs open and reveals a ladder. Margo gawks.

“How the fuck?”

“Magic.” Fen looks smug as she descends down the ladder first. “It only opens for me. All my visitors have to be invited.”

A steady flame rises as Fen lands and holds out a hand to help Margo steady herself. Four torches light up, following its lead, showcasing the murals on the walls: painted in jagged lines with earth-toned colors. Evidently, Josh had added his enhancements here. They bring a sense of classic-Hoberman theatrics to this place, and the familiarity brings Margo an underserved comfort that makes her cringe.

She had come here ready to scan the shelves and locate the Leo Blade, stupidly counting on Fen to place it somewhere well within sight. But as she scans the shelves to look for her target, she pauses at every display, the ones encased in locked glass shelves framed by a simple dark wood that brings all the attention to the artifacts in sight. These are works of art more than hard-cutting weaponry, the entire opposite of what she had expected.

What she had expected from a Forge; not from Fen. 

The display on the far shelf pulls Margo in entirely, and a bench stands along the wall, offering a place for visitors to sit and observe. Margo sits down at the bench along the wall and turns to give the display a closer look. Its case is a glass cube without a frame that seems to float on air, and inside is seven daggers of different shapes and lengths that fan out from a point in the middle, each tip pointing out like rays emerging from the sun. 

These daggers are far from the most ornate knife set in this chamber—there’s no intricate metalwork on the handle or the sheath that looks like hours upon hours of carving. Small shards of red-orange stones are embedded in the bolsters or sheaths, and the metal is shaped with ridges that direct people’s gaze along the length of the stones placed, cohesive in a way that feels respectful.

“These are sunstones.” Fen sits next to her and cranes her head close to Margo’s shoulder. Margo can feel the heat on her skin, a perfect echo of the fire burning in the hearth. “I bought them at the free market this summer solstice. The people from the mining villages always bring the most tempting collections, most of them already cut or polished for use. These were different. Too chipped and broken-up to be changed in any way. They would have been free samples, I think, complementary gifts alongside other purchases. But I traded an ax for them.”

“You made them special.”

Fen tilts her head and meets Margo’s eyes. “They were special in their own right, and I gave them a home.”

She doesn’t redact anything in her words, though she casts her gaze away and fidgets with the fabric of her gray dress. Fen’s honesty has been surprising for Margo on day one, but now it frightens her as much as it brings her guilt. 

Fen is ready to tell her all her truths, and trusts that Margo will respond in kind. The least hurtful way Margo can bring herself back on track and figure out the answer she’d come here for is to cut to the chase and deal with the shitty aftermath as it comes.

“This must have been hell to make all by yourself,” Margo starts. “But it looks like you’ve got plenty of practice.”

“I work on commissions when I can. Not during storm season—winters are too busy. But the rest of the year I take orders for ceremonial daggers. They’re for weddings. Part of our tradition.”

“Huh.”

When Margo was in Fillory as a child, she’d heard birds chatter about daggers alongside wedding gossip, but she hadn’t connected the two. This is a part of the Fillorian culture she had evidently missed out on, but it’s not surprising, considering where she‘d stayed during her last visit. 

“It’s an unusual tradition, I know. But it originated from a magical rite, one that partners from a century ago would perform at their wedding. They’d cut a slash along their palm from the same dagger to forge a bond and seal their promise.”

“That sounds like too much commitment for shagging someone.”

Fen sends her a chastising look but can’t hide her chuckle. “That’s why the blood bond is no longer a necessary part of the ritual. Not all believed in virginity ‘till marriage. Lots of people decided never to commit themselves, and officiators were losing profit. So fifty years ago, the bond was overruled and no longer mandatory.”

“Classic capitalism.”

“Capitalism?”

Margo can teach Fen about capitalism. She’ll probably go on a tirade and wind up explaining democracy and other shit, but she had been stalling for too long. She closes her eyes and sighs. Time to rip off the fucking bandage and get on with it. Own up to her terrible self. “I’ll explain later.” 

“When did you learn all this?” Margo asks, forcing herself not to turn away. “Not about the wedding. Or the, well, rumors. I mean knifemaking.”

“As early as I could remember.” Fen settles herself into the bench, leaning against the wall. “My mother taught me when I was small. I remember following her into her Forge and watching her work. Before she disappeared, before this shield was raised, we used to sell her knives at the fair. There was one every season, always following the path of the river upstream.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did she go?”

“I spent years asking myself the same question.” Fen gazes down at her hands. “I used to ask my dad, but the reminder of her was too much, so I stopped. She left after the shield had already been raised. That’s the problem. All I remember was, the last time I saw her, she had been searching.”

“For someone?”

“More likely than not.” Fen lifts her head and gives Margo a curious look. “How did you guess?”

Well, shit.

Margo’s question had cut too close to home, and it was entirely unnecessary. She could have dragged back the conversation to somewhere much, much less personal. But it's too late for that now.

“The last time I saw my mother,” Margo tells her, “she had been searching for someone, too. I was too young to understand what she could have wanted that we didn’t have.”

That  _ I _ didn’t have.

Margo doesn’t voice this out loud, but Fen seems to have picked it up, Gods know how. “That must have been difficult.” 

Fen’s voice sounds like pity, and it hurts.

“It was a long time ago.” Margo shakes her head, silently asking Fen to stop. The last thing she wants is sympathy from someone she has to betray. “And I don’t blame her for leaving.”

She can tell Fen about her father’s powers. His psychic way of connecting with someone’s memories, specifically to search for moments of fear. As Fray’s sister, Fen would have understood how easily manipulable this magic can be. It’s uncanny how much her tragic fucking backstory sounds like Fen’s, but if Margo wants to relate to someone, now is a terrible moment to start.

Fen waits for her to speak again. 

“She was affected by some kind of memory magic.” Margo had only learned it this morning from El, but all he did was confirm her suspicions. And it had been good to know where her mom had been, but if no one knows where she is now, there’s no point in dwelling. “Kind of like this shield around your village. On the last night I spent with her, we fell asleep in front of the TV. A TV is like—”

“Josh told me what it is. Moving portraits of real people made from small pixels.”

The way Fen sees her world is endearing.

“Yeah. Something like that. With sound.”

“With sound! Oh. Josh mentioned something about sound. Maybe. I think.”

Margo smiles. The way Fen sees her world is endearing, and it’s a shame to know Margo is about to break off her illusion of a friendly, lost visitor.

“We were watching something with music playing along. And this one song, it… I don’t know if it brought back everything, but she looked scared. And she looked”—in the direction of my dad’s study to make sure the light was off, even though he was already in bed—“to see no one else was around. Then she told me she had to go, and she’d be back.”

The irony of the song hadn’t struck Margo until many years later when she’d heard it again at Charlie’s place. Until she heard the lyrics and realized she remembered parts of it. The song meant something important, and it took a mysterious orb in a parcel with no return address and a psychic for Margo to understand what— _ who _ —her mother had been running away from.

_ Don’t you forget about me, _

_ I’ll be alone, dancing you know it baby. _

Margo begins humming the tune, hoping something else comes to her mind following the cue, but nothing resurfaces that she doesn’t already know. It takes two lines before Margo remembers where she is and stops, only to find Fen frowning at her, her lips parted without uttering a word.

The silence of the Forge draws out a pulsing sound, one that echoes in the depth of her mind. Margo feels it rather than hears it. She turns as her skin crawls, trying to locate the source.

“I remember that song,” Fen says at the same time Margo stops searching. 

Her eyes follow Margo’s until they’re both staring at the loose floorboard by the wall underneath the mounted torch closest to them. It’s not the floorboard itself that pulls their attention. The hiding place would have been near-seamless and entirely unsuspicious if it weren’t for the glow underneath, a clear white fizzle of something most definitely magical.

Fen stands, moving toward the light. She continues to stare at Margo as she walks, her frown turning suspicious. “A stranger from Earth sang it to me. I don’t remember her name. She was here before my mom left, when the shield was already up.”

Margo’s throat tightens. A stranger? Someone who knows this song and was in this village long enough to be a shadow of a memory despite the shield?

Before Margo can ask, Fen speaks again, lifting the floorboard up to reveal a long, velvet box. “She was the one who commissioned the Blade. And she’d said if she weren’t here when it’s ready, her daughter could collect it instead. We all remember this. The Fairy Queen must have kept that part of our past deliberately unharmed from the rest of her spell.”

“When?” Margo asks, startled at how raspy her voice had become. “How long ago was this shield raised?”

Fen opens the box and reveals five lit moonstones lined up in a row. She keeps her distance when Margo tries to stand up for a closer look, but Margo’s heart sinks. She’d seen what she needed to—the Blade isn’t finished. 

“Fifteen years ago,” Fen says, brisk and matter-of-fact, the warmth in her voice vanishing. 

Margo was here fifteen years ago. She had turned seven in the Castle, and she and El had celebrated together despite her being three months older, sharing a gigantic cake surrounded by her dad and Irene. This morning El had told her who Hannah was and what she meant to her mom, but the other missing piece hits Margo now like a slap in the face. Her dad had come to this Kingdom to search, and her mom had found a way to hide, shielding off an entire village while she waited for the Blade that could have set her free.

“Fen—”

“Is this the only reason you’re here?”

She should stay here and explain. She should tell Fen she wants the Blade to finish what her mother had started: take it to whoever deserves it so she can destroy them and set everyone else free. But the quiver in Fen’s voice brings back the coward inside Margo that hadn’t come out in so long.

“I need to go,” Margo blurts out, already heading for the ladder.

The trapdoor springs open to let her out when she reaches the top, the magic of the lock evidently only applicable from the outside in. Margo steps on the winding path among the strange flowers back to the opening of the greenhouse. And then she’s sprinting across the field like she had done two nights ago, only this time, she isn’t running after anyone. She’s running away.


	17. It's my feeling we'll win in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye came to Eliot and Kady bearing bad news. Eliot and Kady acquired their cacodemons. Eliot talked to his mama.

**October 2010**

Eliot was eighteen when he saw Skye again, and it had been a perfectly boring Saturday before everything changed. She was standing stark and startled in the middle of the Manhattan street. He and Kady had finished running a quick errand for Pete for some extra cash, and were just on their way back to the L train, paper bags full of ShakeShack burgers and fries in tow. 

When Skye appeared in front of Eliot, he’d been holding his paper bag high above his head when he felt Kady’s hand fishing around, trying to steal another one of his fries. None of the pedestrians startled at the sight of Skye. Clearly fairy deals were a rarity on Earth.

“Eliot,” Skye said, lifting her chin high to meet his eyes. “My word, how much you’ve grown.”

It was good to see Skye again, even though any reminder of Fillory still whacked him like a bitch. He had grown too much on Earth to think of Fillory as his home. His eighteenth birthday was two weeks ago, and five years away from the Castle was almost enough for Eliot to shed the image of his fast. The image of the small boy scared of his own shadow.

Skye sounded the same. Probably looked the same, too—fairies don’t really age visibly once they’ve grown past their fledgeling years as far as Eliot knew. Then he noticed the wooden-looking prosthetic where Skye’s left leg used to be, invisible like the rest of her. A part of her limb where there used to be flesh and bone.

Knowing she’d caught him staring, Eliot gave Skye a sad look.

Kady stopped next to him, and he held up his finger before Kady could ask. “She’s with me,” Eliot tells Skye. “She’s part of the Quest, too. Wanna introduce yourself?”

Kady hadn’t looked too surprised when Skye had revealed herself. It was probably a good thing that Eliot told her about his past—she’d been prepared for the day she could see the fairies, too. 

“Your leg,” Eliot asked, “what happened?”

Skye hesitated for a moment, then looked away. “Miss Irene discovered it was me who tampered with her blood crystal.”

“ _ Jesus fuck. _ ” Kady cursed under her breath.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot said. And all the hatred he’d buried over the years came flooding back. “I didn’t know she’d find out.”

Skye shook her head. “Don’t be. It was my choice to help you. Just as it was yours to embark on the Quest.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Kady asked.

“It is,” Skye says, then adds, “Miss Irene banished me to work for her family who lives in the city. I don’t have long before I have to go back. They’ll be home soon.”

Eliot found them somewhere quieter to talk, a corner bench in Bryant Park covered by tall bushes behind them, and Skye explained everything: the Library had been compromised, and Everett had seized the Compass back. Harriet’s scouts had lost their fight against him. One had lost his life.

All because two people believed they deserved more magic than their human bodies were capable of.

“I know you have the Key,” Skye said. “But it would be difficult to seize the Compass from Everett. He has grown too strong. To defeat him would require another weapon—a weapon capable of killing a God. The Leo Blade.”

Eliot’s head was still spinning when Kady spoke again, sounding determined enough for them both. “Tell us how we can find it.”

* * *

**October 2010**

Two days later, Eliot found himself standing in an antique book shop on 57th Ave with Kady by his side. It was unassuming and rightfully boring-looking, perfectly disguised to look like an almost-abandoned shop, the type that looked more like an overpriced museum than a place of business. But Harriet had reminded them how deceiving appearances could be, and Eliot had taken her word for it. 

Because Henry Fogg was the shop owner, and once upon a time, he had been Irene McAllister’s mentor.

He was bummed that Quentin wouldn’t be joining them for another year, but Q had to finish high school so his family wouldn’t pry or give Eliot shit for towing him down a dark path. They knew about Eliot, but not about where he came from. That information had been reserved for Q and Jules alone, and they had kept his secret. 

It wasn’t Eliot’s first exposure to magic, of course it wasn’t, which was lucky because Fogg started them off with practicals and skipped over all the reading—and he’d done enough reading to last him a fucking lifetime. Fogg taught them inter-disciplinary spells like wards and trackers, ones that would maybe not save lives, but sure save a fuckload of time. And he had Kady, and as long as he wasn’t alone with his dangerous magic, he had a feeling it would turn out okay. 

The real pain in the ass had been how temperamental his powers turned out. It was like his magic had a mind of its own, a destructive one. Kady had been the same way when she’d started, her spells ranging from  _ “practically nonexistent” _ to  _ “did not mean to turn your desk into flames, sorry, Fogg” _ , but after the Senior Dance—after she and Penny and Jules all banged it out, Eliot not sneaking into her room in the dead of the night for a chat for once—her magic listened to her.

A week before Kady turned eighteen, Fogg got them drunk as hell on some magical booze he’d acquired from another magician who lost a bet. Eliot would have found it concerning if he hadn’t already had his own taste of underage drinking, thanks to the many people who’d come by Harriet’s bunker with new books and newer artifacts and gave him a sip of their good stuff when Harriet wasn’t watching. Fogg’s drink tasted like wine made by someone who only had a vague idea what wine tasted like, but after a long day of trying and massively failing to raise a shield against Kady’s attacks, Eliot chugged down as much as he could, trying to dull down the pain of his bruises.

“There’s a reason I got you both piss-drunk,” Fogg finally said when the sky turned into the unholy shade of night time. He pulled down all the blinds and doubled his wards. “I believe it is time to provide the final defense. A failsafe, in case you find yourself in need of a life saver.”

Eliot and Kady held hands as they lay on their stomach on top of a table Fogg had cleared. They were bound to the surface by invisible traps, already cursing under their breaths when the hot iron touched their back between their shoulder blades. The cacodemon looked vaguely like a salamander—Eliot had only seen it for a second before it wriggled itself into Kady’s skin, and felt his do the same, settling itself awkwardly by his spine. If they had screamed, it would go unheard to the rest of the world. But at the very least, they would emerge from Fogg’s that night with a badass tattoo, and a creature under their skin whose freedom would one day save their lives.

“A word of advice,” Fogg said before they left that night, their flesh still tender and chafing under the jackets they’d thrown back on. “Your magic is alive, much like the cacodemon. It is bound to your soul, not your mind. It does not listen to reason, but a magician and their power can reach a compromise. An understanding. Some do it by numbing their feelings away”—Fogg shakes the empty wine bottle—“but the more long-lasting way is to find a way to get over yourself. By which I mean, move the fuck on.”

That night, Eliot and Kady lay in bed for hours without meaning to sleep, complaining about the creatures lurking under their skin. They thought they’d come a long way from their past and banged it all out with the respective loves of their lives, but evidently there was one last piece they had to let go. And come morning, Kady woke with a resolution to track down her mom’s trailer and see about finding Marina, too. And Eliot asked Harriet for a means to track down a number.

Seven hours later, her contacts came back with his mom’s full address and a burner phone. He thought of simply calling and trying to recognize her voice, but decided to sit in front of the scryglass, Harriet’s mirror, in the end. Harriet had charmed to assist herself with phone calls by watching the person speak and reading their lips. Kady had invited herself to sit next to him cross-legged on the carpet without needing to ask. He ran his finger once along the rim and watched it glow before he dialed. Someone picked up after three rings, and Eliot was looking at his mother in what looked like the living room of a suburban house.

“Hello?”

It was a good thing he’d decided on the scryglass. He wouldn’t have been able to recognize her voice. She looked different than he’d remembered, like she had aged ten years in one, then stopped aging completely like she was frozen in time. And he couldn’t tell what else about her had changed—he thought he’d never forget her face the moment before he and Irene walked out the door all those years ago, but his memories of her were honey-blonde hair and a soft, gentle touch, and rare smiles on her lips, but nothing else.

“It’s me, mom,” Eliot said. He winced at the word; it was strange to call her as such when he couldn’t even picture her in his mind without seeing her. “Eliot.”

“No.”

He saw the disbelief written on her face through the scryglass before she even said the word. Kady’s hand tightened around his, and he felt her turn around from where she sat next to him, ready to help. But he fixed his eyes on the mirror, trying to hold an image of someone he thought he’d remembered a long time ago. 

And she wasn’t hanging up. Which meant he had a chance to get through. To recall the one moment they’d shared before everything broke. 

“I remember that day I left. It was getting late. Right around dusk. Irene was holding my hand so tight when we walked out of the house, like she knew I’d try to run. Try to come back.”

She parted her lips, perhaps trying to think of a way to counter his claim: he couldn’t know all this, no one else was there, or maybe he’d extracted the information from Irene… but she didn’t voice any of this, only held the phone closer.

“And she took”—he snorted, stifling a laugh despite himself—“she took my blue coat. Of all the ones on the rack. She took the one I’d only wear for church ‘cause I hated how itchy it made me feel—”

“Like ants,” she finished, her voice cracking, “crawling up your little arms.”

Eliot had to force himself to open his eyes again. To look into the mirror. She had turned in the direction that showed her face in its entirety to him, though the mirror in her house was just a normal one, and he couldn’t show her his side, but he imagined his own look reflected back on her face—no one had told Eliot he had his mother’s eyes, or the unruly curls in her hair that had a mind of its own, much like his.

“I really, really hated that coat.”

He saw her pause and knew she was searching for the right words. He let Kady put her arm around him and squeeze his shoulder, swallowing back a sob.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was so quiet then, but it was the loudest he’d heard her speak. It sounded like one of the confessions she used to make at church with Eliot squirming on her lap, whispered through a wooden pane

“It happened so fast, didn’t it?” Eliot said, shaking his head. “There was blood. Blood everywhere. I couldn’t control it. You must’ve been scared of me. I was scared of me.”

“And I ran.”

“And I sat there all frozen ‘till you came back with Irene. I didn’t know how long I was sitting there. Irene was in the right place at the right time, and she found you just as you found her. You didn’t know what to do. She had all the answers.”

He didn’t tell her Irene’s answers had been all wrong. She’d learned the truth about magic from the hedge witches who had taken her in and tried to help her track him down, and she’d already drawn the same conclusion. Hearing him confirm what she’d feared couldn’t change what was done.

“I’m sorry, Eliot. I tried”—she choked—“I tried to get you back. I tried to find you. I-I ran all the way to-to the s-station. I—”

_ It was an accident. _

Margo’s words came back to him then, words she’d said over and over that day they’d danced on the wall walk and he’d saved her life. It took him years to accept that about his own magic, and he knew it would take his mother many more to accept that about giving away her son.

“It was an accident,” he echoed the words. Leaving home had been heartbreaking for him, but he knew what it felt like to live with a mistake that could never be fixed. And he wasn’t angry at her, as much as he had wanted to be once. He had gone too far from that chapter of his past to remember what angry would’ve felt like. “My magic. You sending me away with Irene. Neither of us meant to hurt anyone.”

“But I still hurt you.”

“That’s why I called,” he said. He thought about Kady holding him tight, about Harriet’s enchanted amulet around his neck next to the Key, about Quentin’s confession that day in the rain… and Mira, and Zelda, and even Margo from so long ago, all of them trying so desperately to show how much he deserved. “I wanna let you know I’m not hurting anymore. And I’m okay. And I forgive you.”

“Okay.”

“And I’m happy you’re happy.”

Eliot hung up the phone after they said one last goodbye. After he’d taken one last look, trying to etch his mother’s far back into his mind where memories of his life in Louisiana were buried deep. He didn’t leave her a number, and she didn’t ask. 

Kady pulled Eliot into a hug before he had to say anything, and he didn’t know how long he cried into her shoulders before he stopped. When he finally pulled himself away from the scryglass that now only showed his and Kady’s own reflections, he felt the cacodemon nestle between his shoulder blades, settling in at last.

A month after Quentin finished school and began his own magic lessons with Fogg by Eliot’s side, Kady walked out of Eliot’s life, too. Eliot and Q said goodbye to Kady and Jules and Penny before they stepped through what looked like a regular wall-sized portrait on the far wall of Fogg’s shop, transporting themselves into the house of a notorious Russian recluse, a master magician by the name of Misha Mayakovsky. Harriet had cried before sending Kady on her way that day, and Kady had kept the illusion amulet around her neck and promised to write. 

Kady and her partners would not return to the city for years. Eliot couldn’t imagine her being away for so long, but they promised to call each other, and knew they’d be okay. They knew they would come back to each other when they were ready. When it was time to finish the Quest once and for all.


	18. Part Ten: Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen speaks to Eliot and finds a common thread in their past. Margo reveals her full truth, and Fen shares secrets of her own.

**Five Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Fen tries to put Margo out of her mind that afternoon, but she can’t help but search for Margo when she walks around the village, handing out invites to the lantern workshop for the evening. There are lots of traditions during Midwinter’s Eve that makes it a bittersweet holiday for Fen, but she tries to live up to the hype, not wanting everyone to worry. The shield around the village was raised before Midwinter’s Eve fourteen years ago. What used to be the most cherished winter holiday in the Kingdom has now grown into a symbol of desperate hope.

Like everyone else in the Kingdom, Fen prepares a hand-crafted lantern to hang by the Inn’s on Midwinter’s Eve, standing amidst her guests’ many contributions. The lanterns make the Inn stand out at the end of the road, surrounded by dozens of lanterns instead of one. Josh had remarked last year that the Inn looked lit up like a Christmas Tree.

The added attention is a cruel irony considering how much Fen wishes she could forget about the holiday. The tradition started in Silentspell when she was eighteen, the year after Baylor and the other men had gone missing on a day meant for celebration. Other merchants had picked up the new custom from trading with Fen’s neighbors, and while it doesn’t help assuage Fen’s guilt over the matter of the missing men, she admits it makes the winters a little brighter. And after the snowstorm, a little bit of light is a welcome distraction.

After sundown, the villagers and guests alike gather at the schoolhouse, waiting for Fen to unlock the door. Miss Rowan had handed over the key, trusting Fen to clean up the classroom the morning after. Fen smiles when the villagers greet her and tries to sound cheerful as she wishes them a happy holiday in return. She’s still thinking about Margo’s untold truths, but that’s her own problem, not one she wishes to burden her neighbors with. 

The room has been set up days before to accommodate all the guests. Where there used to be rows of small desks, now there are larger rectangular tables with chairs all around, all within a good distance from the warm fireplace in the center with kettles hanging over the flame for warm beverages. At the front of the room, where Miss Rowan’s desk sits by the large chalkboard, there is a large collection of crafting materials along with tins of tea leaves and ground cocoa, all donated by the villagers themselves. 

This year is one of the best turnouts Fen had had since the tradition started. But any hopes Fen has of distracting herself from Margo vanish as Eliot and his friends step inside the room. They look around, searching for empty tables, perhaps, but the kitchen helpers from the Inn see them and wave them over, making a large birth in their space to welcome the guests. Julia and Quentin’s eyes are aglow with delight, an excitement that does not extend to the rest of the pack. Nonetheless, they settle and accept some papers and wires, ready to glue their own contributions to the foreign festival.

Eliot catches Fen’s eyes when he turns and scans the room, shrinking into himself despite his tall stature. She gives him a reassuring look and walks over, wondering if he may feel more at ease with a mug of tea. Before Fen can approach their table, Eliot stands up from his seat and gives her a small nod, then shrugs when Quentin gives him a questioning look, mouthing something before patting his partner’s shoulder.

Fen guides him to the corner of the room with a few extra chairs standing around, a good distance from the bulk of the crowd. 

“Everything okay?” Fen asks, keeping her voice low.

Eliot nods, twiddling his thumbs. “I’m okay. Just wanted to talk. I…” He looks up. “Great setup. This was your schoolhouse?”

“It was. It’s been here since my grandparents were children, Gods know how many times it had to be patched over.” Fen tells him and gestures around the room. “School’s not in session for Midwinter. So.”

“Right. Yeah.”

Fen takes a deep breath. Umber’s ass, small talk is impossible when she’s worried. She clears her throat and gathers up the courage to broach the topic she’d been wanting to address since she saw Eliot and his friends enter the room. “Margo’s not joining us?”

“Margo is, umm…” Eliot looks at the door. “I know your sister, Fray? Fray stayed behind at the Inn. So. I think I saw Margo back there with her before we came. You want me to—”

“No, no. It’s okay,” Fen says. “I wanted to speak with her, but it can wait.”

Eliot nods. He twirls a lock of hair by his ears before tucking it behind and turns to Fen. “The lanterns are part of your tradition, aren’t they? What’s the story?”

His curiosity could easily have been interpreted as mild interest, but Fen has been suspecting Eliot knows more than he gives away, even before she came to realize that Margo had a connection to the Leo Blade she hadn’t divulged. Margo had said Eliot’s a magician, but the Earth magicians who find their way to Fillory are blissfully unaware of the dangers of this Kingdom, bright-eyed adventurers searching for Quests. Eliot, though, looks like he doesn’t mean to stay long. But beyond all that? He looked familiar. Fen couldn’t place it until Margo admitted what she did earlier today, and now she can’t unsee it.

“It’s a fairly new tradition,” Fen says, reciting what she tells all her foreign guests. “It started three years ago when I was eighteen. But it’s been a welcome change.”

“Mhmm. It looks nice.”

Eliot frowns as he continues to watch everyone work. His scrutiny doesn’t appear to be directed at what’s in front of him, and Fen feels guilty for what she’s about to ask, but she pushes on. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Eliot, but I’d come to hear a few things—rumors, really, wild speculations—of why you’re here. You and your friends.”

He doesn’t respond. Fen prepares herself to ask again, rephrasing the question in her head—perhaps she hadn’t made herself clear—but he turns, and the look in his eyes confirms what she suspects. “How much do you know?”

“More than I was told, which… wasn’t much, but I heard you’ve come to find Margo. And when she first came upon our village, she told me she was searching for you.”

Well, _for a friend_ , if Fen wants to be accurate. But Margo wasn’t referring to Josh.

“It’s been years since we saw each other,” Eliot explains. “We weren’t expecting to meet up in your village, if that’s what you were asking.”

“It’s not. Some… things from my past are coming back to me.” Fen gathers herself up for what she’s about to admit. She’d told no one, not even her dad, though Fray had glimpsed it by accident a few months ago. “A memory I have about the Lost Prince. And when I saw you the first day, I thought you looked familiar. But I’ve seen a lot of faces, and with the nature of the shield around the village I can’t be certain who was who, but you remind me of him.”

He catches her eye and lights a small spark on his finger, a silent question. She nods in understanding, relieved that he’d considered such a spell. He casts a sound barrier over their corner of the room, invisible to everyone else. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“I was five,” Fen says. “It was a long time ago, but I remember.”

To her surprise, Eliot lets out a scoff, a self-deprecating one directed at himself. “Some things never change.”

“How do you mean?”

Eliot swallows, gathering himself for the moment of truth. “I left Fillory eight years ago. I was thirteen back then. By then I was far from the clueless little boy who was brought to this place and locked up in the castle, but I wasn’t who I am now.” He glances up and meets her eyes, unable to hide his look of hurt. “But none of that means shit, does it? Your hunch about me doesn’t change. I’m still the Lost Prince. You wanted to hear me say it.”

“I’m sorry,” Fen says in earnest, dropping her gaze. “I didn’t mean to confront you. And if you’re worried about me telling everyone else, I’m not. I promise I won’t.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“All I want is the truth. I don’t normally pry into my guests’ personal lives besides what they told me, but I… I found out something earlier. About the Leo Blade, and Margo. I don’t know what your Quest entails, but I’m wondering if you’re after the Blade, too?”

“In a way. But no. Not exactly the motive as Margo.”

She nods and waits for him to elaborate.

“Vengeance may be part of my motive, but the Blade isn’t the end of my Quest,” Eliot says. “I’m here to bring back your Gods. My friends and I have the means to find them. But before I can, I need to know the Blade is ready, even if Margo’s the one who will wield it instead of me. Because there’s someone else who’s also after the Gods. Someone who can’t be killed like a mortal. We need the Blade as a precaution.”

A means to find the Gods. Ember and Umber. Fen sucks in a sharp breath. All these years, she’d wondered if they had locked themselves up and hidden away for good. The last people she expected to find them were magicians from Earth.

“Are you certain you can find them?”

“If my sources are telling the truth, they’re still in this Kingdom, biding their time,” Eliot confirms. “They’ve set up a back door, you could say, to their hideout, or whatever you wanna call it. A way to find them. Ask for help. I mean, the Blade can’t be wielded without a touch of their power, right? And while we’re at it, we can, I don’t know, ask them to come back.”

Ember’s word! Fen exhales. The Gods are within reach. And the Lost Prince—no, Eliot—he’d come back to help.

“If I were you, I would have run and never returned,” Fen says. 

Eliot shrugs. “I would’ve stayed on Earth if I could. But this Quest, it was part of my… my fate or something, something morbid and depressing with a high chance of _fuck_ _I’m gonna die_. The years I’d spent back Earth was part of the Quest, but I was prepared for this. For coming back. So here I am, finishing the shit I’d started.”

“So you’re here to find the Gods and ask for a touch of their power. Then what?”

“Take down the High King and Everett. Return the Kingdom back to its people.” He gestures vaguely at the people gathered in the room, their chatters fading to faint murmurs outside the sound barrier. “You. Your neighbors. Everyone else who call this place home.”

Despite how dire the Prince’s destiny is, hearing about his plan makes Fen smile. She debates not telling him what she remembers—after all, he hadn’t seemed keen to think about his past, and who can blame him? But he had shared some of his secrets, so Fen decides it’s only fair to share some of hers, too.

“You’re not what I imagined for a Prince,” she says.

“I get that a lot.” Eliot chuckles. “I didn’t choose it, you know. I was a child when I came. I hardly knew shit. And the King isn’t my mother.”

“I can tell.”

Eliot quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not a Psychic, are you?”

“I saw you one winter when I was five,” Fen recounts the memory, picturing the day it happened. “I was heading home with mom and dad after attending the fair upstream—we were selling some of my mom’s blades. It was nearly sundown when we headed home, and I was tired of walking, so my mom picked me up and carried me the rest of the way. We traveled down a main path. That’s when I saw the King’s carriage, heading down the opposite way.”

“You were the girl.”

He remembers.

“I was the girl,” Fen says. “The girl with the stuffed rabbit, staring past her mom’s shoulder as she carried me back. Both my parents turned their eyes away by habit, but I was curious. And when the carriage passed by, I looked. And I saw you.”

“Through the window,” Eliot finishes for her.

Fen hadn’t expected to see the Prince that day. She had been foolishly brave, hoping for a glimpse of the King, but the eyes that gazed back were the saddest she’d ever seen. The eyes of a scared little boy who wished to be anywhere else.

“The horses spooked me, and I dropped my rabbit down on the road. I reached for it, but it made its way back to me. Lifted itself off the ground like it took flight. That was when I looked and saw you staring back. It was your magic. I could feel it. And it was gentle.”

Eliot doesn’t speak for some time, but he looks at Fen, and finally admits, “I always thought that was you.”

Fen shakes her head. “I’m not a magician. But I know magic when I see.”

Fen remembers the Prince even as the rest of her memories from her earlier days faded with time. Most of all she remembers the lost look in his eyes. And as she began to learn about her Kingdom’s history in school, about all the horrible crimes the Children of Earth had committed on the throne, she thought of the Prince as an exception. She couldn’t imagine him as a monster. Only a child.

“If only I’d known at the time,” Eliot says.

“That I remembered you?”

“That my power could do something good.” He smooths a wrinkle on his shirt’s sleeve with his thumb. “Irene—the High King—she brought me here to use me as her weapon. She told me Death was my discipline, and all I could do was hurt.”

Eliot’s words echo in the sound barrier. Fen takes in his presence as he sits by her side and does his best to suppress his fidgets. She looks at the way he sinks into his seat and tries to tune out everything, to pull away from reminders of a place he had once found familiar for all the wrong reasons. 

Fen wants to tell him she’s sorry, but she stops herself. The pity will rub salt on his wounds, she knows. “Margo says you use your magic for good,” Fen says instead. “She trusts you. And I believe her.”

Perhaps Fen was the only Fillorian outside Castle Whitespire who had ever seen the Prince’s face, the only one who suspected he didn’t belong with the likes of the High King. For years she’d kept this encounter a well-guarded secret: from her dad, who had crossed the same path with the Prince but didn’t turn back for a second look; and from Baylor, too desperate for vengeance to understand that fear comes from all sides. 

The lanterns had started as a tradition to guide the lost men back down the forest paths so they could find their way home. But every year when Fen walks down the paths after Midwinter ends searching for merchants open to trade, she wonders if the Lost Prince had traveled down one of the paths when he’d run. And though the lights bring people solace, she’d hoped the Prince had traveled far enough that the King will not use the lanterns as a guide to retrace his steps, and capture him, and seize him back.

“Even if Margo lied to you?” Eliot pries. 

“I believe in what she said about you, even if she hadn’t been upfront about her personal mission with the Blade.” She looks at him in surprise. “How did you know to ask me?”

“You asked if I was here for the Blade. Margo was searching for it earlier. I talked to her this morning, and she said she was meeting up with someone to find it. So. Am I right?”

It’s Fen’s turn to look away, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t suspected Margo’s interest in her Forge anything to do with the Blade. They were just… talking. Sharing. But now she wonders how long Margo had known she was the Blademaker’s daughter. She wonders if that’s the only reason Margo had talked to her at all.

“You are,” Fen says. “And, about Margo… I believe her intentions are good. Whatever she wishes to do with the Blade, I know she’s on your side, and I know you’re all trying to help. But I wish to hear the truth from her. Why she’s here. How she knows about you.”

“We were friends here when we were still children,” he tells her. His voice doesn’t sound as hollow anymore, but now there’s something gentle behind his words, even protective. “We parted ways when she went back to Earth. And she was here now to search for me. She made an agreement with someone who has the means to bring her here, and the Blade was part of the agreement. None of us expected things to turn out like this. And I am hoping that whatever happens, the Blade will be my responsibility. Not hers.”

His last words fade out as Fen’s mind lingers on the first thing he admitted. Margo had been here before. In this Kingdom. Perhaps even in the castle itself.

On Margo’s first day, Fen had noticed how alert Margo had been, whipping her head around like she wants to map every building in this strange village she’d stumbled upon. Fen had assumed she was simply looking for her friend, but she’d been wrong. Margo was searching for hints the Fillory she had once known. 

Hearing the way Eliot speaks about Margo, his voice no longer hollow, makes Fen want to reach out and tell him she isn’t angry. But Fen can’t say what she doesn’t yet understand, and she can’t understand until she hears Margo’s full story. And to do that, Fen will have to offer the same thing in return: her full truth. The story of Baylor, and the story of her sister.

“How do you feel about all this?” Fen asks. “Killing the High King? I understand that’s the only conceivable way, but… what if someone else gets hurt?”

What if Margo gets hurt?

“People already have,” Eliot tells her. “All of you who watched your Kingdom die day by day. You deserve something better, and I want this to stop.”

Fen nods. Eliot is just as trapped as she is, but he wants to do what he can to help, and she admires the courage even if she worries. 

“I’ll go find Margo now,” Fen decides. “Talk things through.”

“Okay.”

She stands and gives a nod to Quentin and Julia, who had turned to watch Eliot from their table, before turning back to the man in question to promise one last thing. “Once I know all that your Quest entails, I will do my best to help.”

* * *

Fen finds Margo sitting at the dining table at the far end of the reception chamber of the Inn. Margo is holding up the coil of metal wires that make up the structure of Fray’s lantern, encouraging Fray to finish gluing patches of colorful paper around the outside. When Fray is finished, Margo offers a high-five, and Fray smacks her palm with full force, giggling when Margo winces.

Fen stands there and watches them, not wanting to disrupt the moment. By all means, she should be angry, but she can’t bring herself to raise her voice. Fray never participates in lantern workshops, and while dad would have stayed with her back at the Inn, this year he’s standing guard at the observation tower. Fen had been meaning to return early to keep her sister company, but Margo had beaten her to it as Eliot predicted.

“Fray,” Fen says, making sure not to startle them. Fray turns and wrinkles her nose. “I believe it’s past your bedtime. I’ll go up later to say goodnight.”

Fray looks at Margo with a worried frown. Margo forces a smile and nods at the stairs. She rolls her eyes, but obliges, picking up her lantern before stomping her way up.

When Fray is out of earshot, Fen slides into the bench opposite of Margo. “I don’t know how you do it. She’s normally quite stubborn about her bedtime.”

“Who knows.” Margo shrugs, cradling a mug of tea with her hands. She meets Fen’s eyes then looks away quickly. “Listen, I was gonna find you earlier, but I… I saw Fray hanging out alone. So. I didn’t wanna leave her.”

“That’s okay.” Fen smiles despite everything. The fact that Fray had taken to Margo softens the edge in her voice she’d worked up on her walk home. 

Margo doesn’t move but nods slowly.

“I’m not here to ask you to leave if that’s what you were wondering,” Fen adds.

“Well, good.” Margo cringes, then adds in a gentler voice, “Because I can’t leave. Not without the Blade. So.”

“Is that all you came here for?” The question slips out before Fen can find a way to soften the blow. 

“To Fillory, no.” Margo drums her fingers against her mug, guilt ridden in her eyes. “But Silentspell, yes. I hadn’t meant to stay long. And then the storm… you know.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, Fen.” Her fingers stop drumming. “For leading you on. And for not telling you about the—you know. My mission. I thought the less people who knew, the better.”

“If you’d told me from the beginning, I would have told you it can’t be done.” Fen flinches at the forcefulness in her own voice, but carries on. “It would have spared us a lot of trouble.”

“Why not?”

The disappointment in Margo would have fooled anyone, but Fen hears it. She’d been anticipating it. Some part of her even feels… guilty. Somehow. 

“My mother was the one who found the moonstones and let them multiply,” Fen explains. She started it before she disappeared. I’d kept the stones because they were the last thing she started, but I never intended to finish the Leo Blade. This Blade can only be crafted by one maker. The moonstones won’t let me touch them without burning me.”

“Fuck,” Margo whispers.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s my own fault for getting all my hopes up,” Margo insists. She lets go of the mug and shifts back, crossing her arms over her chest. “And I found Eliot. That’s what I’m really after. The Blade was just extra bullshit my dad set me up to do.”

“Oh.” Fen leans forward. “I—I’m happy you found your friend. And Josh. But the Blade… Surely your father would understand.”

Margo scoffs. “I don’t think he gives a fuck if I never come back. But the Blade’s part of the deal, so he’ll expect me to go through with it, _or else_.”

Fen blinks in surprise. “I see.”

“You talked to El, haven’t you?” Margo asks. Fen nods. “How much did he tell you?”

“Just that you were friends when you came here as a child.”

“Okay.” Margo breathes out slowly, relaxing her shoulders. “I can tell you the rest of the story if you want. No more lies. Promise.”

“Okay.”

Margo props her arms against the edge of the table and leans in. “My dad brought me here a year after my mom left,” Margo starts slowly, lowering her voice. “I was six. He said we could look for a fresh start. But we didn’t stay in a village. He took me to Whitespire. He said the High King agreed to give us a place to stay in her castle.”

“He knew the High King?”

“They were business partners. He took me here so he could work on some kind of spell with her. And that’s where I met Eliot. He lived in the castle, too.”

“I know who he is.”

“Oh.” Margo opens her mouth, then closes it again, shaking her head. “How did you—no. Okay. Not now. So, I met El. At first, he was trying to avoid me, but he was the only kid around, and I was bored, so eventually, I got him to talk to me. He told me about his magic.”

“He told me earlier about what the King made him believe,” Fen says. “That his discipline was Death.”

Margo’s next words come out bitter. “You know how we knew it was a lie? One day we were out on the wall walk surrounding the castle. I was showing him how to dance. I wasn’t careful enough, and I slipped. I would’ve fallen into the courtyard and cracked my head open, but he saved me. Pulled me back up before I got hurt.”

“My word,” Fen whispers, wincing. 

“Yeah. That’s the day we found out Irene might not have been telling the truth about him. About anything. So… we tried to look for clues, but Irene kept everything locked up tight, and we didn’t even know where to begin. Then one day a few weeks later, I saw a fairy.”

“But fairies are invisible,” Fen says. “You never made a fairy deal?”

“I didn’t. Skye—that’s the fairy—she just… showed up for me, one day, out of the blue. The fairies work for the High King’s family, but that’s another story. Skye told me said a deal might’ve been made on my behalf, and since I’d already seen her, she told us what we needed to know about Irene. The King.”

“Have you found out what the deal was?” Fen asks.

Bits and pieces about the past comes back to Fen, history of her secluded village that had—purposefully or by chance—slipped through the gap of the memory enchantment built into the shield. Fen doesn’t know much about fairies, only that they avoided humans when they could. Most of the Fillorians aren’t aware of their existence at all. The people of Silentspell knew of them because of the shield, but no one had spoken to one for nearly a century. 

Margo shakes her head.

“I think—”

Fen starts, then hesitates. What she is about to tell Margo is nothing more than a wild speculation. It’s cruel to get her hopes up, but more so to keep it secret. The possibility strikes Fen as she looks at the forest green cloak fastened over Margo’s shoulders, one that had been fairly pristine, thought not unworn. 

The cloak had been made by Fen’s mother, and Fen and her dad had assumed it belonged to her. But someone else might have worn it. Someone who was not born from this village, forgotten, but not entirely.

“Do you have any idea what your father and the King might have been searching for?” Fen asks instead.

Margo shakes her head. “El and I were focused on running away. But they were gone that day when we left the castle grounds. Both of them at once, like they had to chase some kind of lead. Why?”

“What if they were searching for your mother? What if they knew about the Blade, too?”

“My mom was here? In your village?”

“I couldn’t remember her face, or her name. But the Fairy Queen excluded a memory from being erased when she raised the shield, a vague memory as a reminder: a Child of Earth made the deal to keep our village protected. She wanted to make sure the Blade was kept safe until it could be fully forged. And she told us that if she had to depart before the Blade was ready, her daughter could come in her place.”

“ _If_ she had to depart? Fuck. Well, I know she did. El met her when he was thirteen. She was all the way in the Neitherlands by then.” Margo tuts her tongue, then decides, “Do you remember when she left?”

“It was in winter, not long after my mother disappeared. That’s all I remember.”

“Fuck.” Margo looks down and mutters out numbers under her breath before meets Fen’s eyes again. “It’s around the same time. All of it. Fuck. I think that’s what Irene and my dad were after. They wanted to find her.”

“But now?” Fen asks. “Why does your father that you find the Blade for the King?”

“They must have made some kind of deal. She must have something he wants. A new lead to find my mom? Whatever it is, he’s desperate.”

“Are you going to honor your agreement?”

“Yes, but no.” Margo lets out a humorless laugh. “His deal with me was that I’d bring the Blade to Irene. That was all he said. He should have worded it better.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“I’m planning to use the Blade. If Irene ascended high enough in her little power trip, I’ll stab her. If not… I don’t know if the Blade works on mortals like a normal blade, but El says he knows of a way to get her. The White Lady gave him another option.”

“And the other enemy? Everett?”

The name makes Margo flinch. Fen bites back her apology, waiting for her answer. 

“I’m planning to kill Irene for El’s sake. He doesn’t deserve to get hurt by that bitch, not after what she’d done to him last time.” A dark look crosses Margo’s eyes. “But Everett? I wanna kill him for my own reasons.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not me. “He hurt someone I loved. Ruined her life. There was no way to get back what he’d taken from her. And she left me, but I don’t blame her for leaving. I couldn’t stop Everett in time. Couldn’t protect her when it mattered.” Margo’s voice cracks, but she swallows and composes herself. “Or her brother.”

“Oh.” Fen reaches across the table. Margo’s hands are lying by her mug, clutched into tight fists. Margo doesn’t pull away when Fen closes her hands over hers, but she leans closer and studies Fen’s expressions. Fen gives her a look that says _I’m sorry_. It would hurt Margo to hear it out loud. “You’re not responsible for his crimes. And you tried to stop him.”

“I’m the reason he was there at all. I wanted to steal something he was after. Alice and her brother, and his girlfriend, they all got caught in the crossfire. Her brother died.”

It’s the first time Fen hears Margo mention Alice, though Margo had never been subtle about implying the relationships she’d had in the past. Fen hadn’t asked because it would have been most indecent, but now she waits for Margo to continue without comment. She wants to know about Alice, not because she’s part of Margo’s truth, but because she was Margo’s story. A story that Everett had ended too abruptly. 

“Alice was the best magician I knew. We’d been doing this for a long time, sneaking around trying to save people like we were superheroes. Her brother worked for a secret employer who asked them to run errands off the books. They were asked to retrieve the artifact from its hiding place, but Alice and I overheard their plan. The artifact had the power to find my mom, and I wanted it more than anything. I wanted to find her,” Margo says. 

She looks surprised that Fen hasn’t stopped her, but Fen nods, hinting she’d hear her out. 

“The heist itself was nothing,” Margo continues, “no triggered alarms, or close calls, nothing. To fuck with high security. We got away. My mistake was thinking that was the end of it.” 

Fen understands that shame. She’d come to find Margo tonight thinking they’d tell the truths they owed each other, only to find they’d traveled down a similar path and tampered with a fate much greater than they’d anticipated. And someone they loved had gotten hurt.

“I’ll go to the Library tomorrow,” Fen promises. She lets go of Margo’s hands and pulls back. “I’ll see what Roan has that might help with the moonstones. There has to be a loophole. Some way I can work on the Blade in my mother’s place.”

“You’d do that? After what I did?”

“I want to help,” Fen says. “And I’m not angry. You’re far from the first patron who withheld their story from me. I’m not my dad. I’m not the Sheriff. I can’t force you to confess anything. But I was hoping you would have trusted me, so it hurts.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t a lie. Fen doesn’t know, but she has her suspicions. “Maybe I’m beginning to see you as a friend.”

 _Friend_ doesn’t sound like quite the right word.

“My friends have a tendency to get hurt.” Margo turns to stare at the fire on the torch propped up by the stairs, no longer looking at Fen. “That’s how Josh ended up here.”

This moment calls for the truth Fen had been avoiding. The story about Baylor. Fen can veer off from mentioning that part of her past. She can tell Margo not to be so hard on herself and bade her goodnight, and go about finding ways to forge the Blade tomorrow. But Margo’s story is beginning to sound familiar. Too familiar. And while it pains her to hear Margo speak about herself in such a way, hearing it makes Fen feel less alone.

“Margo,” Fen says, “you’re not the only one who let your friend get hurt.”

Margo looks surprised but doesn’t let herself blurt out questions. “You don’t owe me a story. You’ve already told me so much.”

Fen shakes her head. “Talking about Cassia was good. Her story was something I’ve been wanting to share. But this story is different. _Baylor_ is different.”

Margo nods and peers past Fen’s shoulder at the door. “It’s getting late. People might be coming back soon. Talk in the kitchen?”

Fen takes the candle dish sitting at the table and leads Margo around the back, thankful to have found a quieter space. It’s strange to be in the kitchen when everyone else had gone for the night. This room is always bustling, and that’s the only way Fen remembers it. They pull out the high stools underneath the counters and sit there in near-darkness, gazing at each other with only candlelight showing their silhouettes. Without light from the torches on the walls, it’s difficult to see Margo’s face, but this makes it easier for Fen to begin.

“Baylor was my best friend. We’d been friends for ages, long before we started school. His cottage used to be across the road from mine, by the lake near the south of the border—that was before I moved out here. There was a time when he was like family to me. We’d tell each other everything. And as we grew older, and we finished school at fourteen, people around the village began to leave, to find work elsewhere. Tansy spoke to you about it, didn’t they?” Fen asks. “How the shield was driving people away?”

“They did. So Baylor left?”

Fen nods. “His parents made woodcrafts for a living. When I finished school, and I was here, trying to figure out what to do next, he asked if I wanted to come live with his family in Everholde. It wasn’t far. Only a morning’s ride south down the river. But dad wasn’t going to abandon this place, and I couldn’t leave him. Of all my friends, I was the only one who stayed.”

“Until Tansy came back.”

“They came back a year after. They were the first. Baylor came back five months after, but he’d brought friends. And his cousin came back, too. This Inn used to be a tavern. His cousin’s family used to run this place. But Baylor had changed.”

“Changed, how?”

“He was angrier. Angry at the way the Kingdom was run. He was… driven, like he’d found a new meaning in his life outside of his family’s business. He brought ten men back to Silentspell with him when we were fifteen, and one of his older cousins. He’d met them all at his apprenticeship. They were nothing like the people I grew up knowing. In Everholde, the village where he and his family lived, there was a bet going around. The men started it around the pub, and from there, it spread. They wanted to see if anyone could storm into the castle and overthrow the King. The divine rules did not allow for a Child of Fillory to take the throne, but Ember and Umber hadn’t shown themselves in a long time.”

“So, what,” Margo chimes in, “they wanted to see if they could override the Gods?”

“I don’t know what they really wanted,” Fen says. “All they told me was how much easier things would be for the Kingdom once the High King was vanquished. And I knew what was happening—I knew the King was tampering with the magic somehow, trying to save it to power her own spells. But I hadn’t considered fighting her.”

“Fen.” Something shifts in Margo’s gaze. She frowns. “Last night, when you told me very few people returned after they set out for Whitespire…”

“I was the only one,” Fen says, confirming what Margo suspects. “And I only got away because I changed my mind and never entered the castle.”

“And why is that?”

“Because of Fray.”

How can Fen even begin to explain it all? From welcoming back an old friend who had become someone else, to joining their ranks, until she was storming the castle with them, riding through the forest and coming upon the drawbridge on Midwinter’s Eve when she was seventeen. She spoke to her patrons about her life often, as far as she could remember, but this was a part of her life she left out. Fen had told herself what the Inn used to be was irrelevant to what it is now, and the patrons needn’t know about the FU fighters, but that’s not the whole truth. A part of her was—still is—ashamed about leaving everyone else. 

“Would it be easier if you show me?”

Margo pulls the necklace off her neck and holds the orb in the center of her palm. As Fen looks into it, a silvery substance emerges inside the orb and swirls around, as if inviting her in.

“How?”

“Close your hand over this.” Margo extends her hand forward, reaching the center of the kitchen counter. “And think about the memories you want me to see. You’ll see it in your mind, whichever parts you remember. And I’ll be able to see the same thing.”

Fen hesitates, her hand hovering an inch from Margo’s. She wants to say no, to tell Margo she’d rather tell the story with just her words, but the thought of it made her head spin. So she reaches for the orb before she can find a better reason to stop, closing her eyes when Margo curls her fingers up to brush against her pulse.

She brings Margo in, ignoring the way her heart stutters.

The first memory she shows is Baylor standing by her side, beaming, inside her Forge. She pulls out a long piece of burning-hot steel from the hearth, and he’d tried to snatch it from her before she could drop it into the quench tank. It’s not her first time making a sword, but she’d never made one quite as intricate, and she’s pleased with her work. She wipes away at her brows with the cuff of her sleeves after setting the half-finished sword in the tank, nearly out of breath but laughing. 

Fen embodies her fifteen-year-old self as she revisits the memory, the version of her she’d cast away two years later in favor of an image much less destructive. Maybe the magic of the orb meant to bring her back to the moment her memory first happened, when she was proud of her work and not ashamed at what it had become. She remembers stamping Baylor’s name into the bottom of the hilt by the handle with stencils after the sword was finished. It would be Baylor’s favorite weapon, the one he’d carry the last time she saw him. 

“You can still speak in here,” Fen hears Margo’s say. “Say what you wish to say.”

“Okay.”

“Did you make everyone’s weapons?” Margo asks. She sounds awed instead of disturbed, and Fen wants to pull back but she thinks about Margo’s hand still brushing against hers, and she stays in place.

“I was the only Knifemaker among them. I made all of their weapons. Catered to their wishes. But my own weapon was something else.”

“An intricate little dagger with chipped stones?” Margo chuckles, sensing her surprise. “I was impressed by your set from earlier, you know. And your other displays, plus whatever else you’ve got locked away. But mostly the sunstone daggers.”

Hearing that makes Fen smile. Margo had been searching for the Leo Blade, but clearly, that wasn’t the only thing she’d cared to remember. 

“Yes,” Fen says. “I always have it on hand, you know. I carry it in my boot.”

Fen pulls them through to the next memory, watching as Baylor’s face fades away from her mind’s eye. She’s in a large barn now, the one that still sits by the edge of the oilseed fields to this day, watching the boys fall asleep on top of haystacks, snoring away, weapons strewn haphazardly on the ground beneath them. Fen was squirming next to Baylor, but she couldn’t move away—he’d put his arm over her in a strange sort of embrace, and that had been endearing, though the haystacks were an extremely uncomfortable sleeping arrangement. 

Baylor had found the place abandoned and decided it would be a better place to practice than the tavern during off-hours. Fen hadn’t slept well that night, but it was the first night of many that she would spend inside, learning how to joust and convincing herself she’d be able to put the blade through a real person once the time comes. Baylor had been the only one who believed her capable of fighting alongside them; the rest of the men were condescending, and as such, she’d felt compelled to prove them wrong.

“Have you ever had to use it?” Margo asks. She speaks slowly, almost deliberately, like she’s watching the scene but trying to pull Fen away back into the thick of it.

“Not to stab. To cut ropes, mostly. We set snares in the woods outside the shield and check on them twice a week. That’s where we get the game for our food if we find our storage running low. Livestocks wouldn’t have lasted the entire winter.”

“I can imagine.” Margo pauses. “And, for what it’s worth—fuck them. Not Baylor, though he’s a total cock for not speaking up for you. The other guys in the barn. You made all their weapons, and you sure as hell know how to use a knife. They’d have been lost without you. You didn’t have to prove shit to anyone.”

Fen doesn’t say anything before she thinks of another memory to wash over the one in front of her, but she appreciates Margo’s words all the same. She brings them to the day she and Baylor and the other men rode into battle, charging through the drawbridge over the moat on horseback. 

That day had felt strange. She thought she would be excited, but she found herself questioning why she had to march in with them. Why she couldn’t stay home with dad, and whether she’d be home when he’d come back that night, or whether she’d be dead. But she rides out and crosses the shield anyway. She’d spent so long proving herself to the other men, and she couldn’t back away now. 

She brings herself and Margo to the view of the castle next, and she hears Margo draw a sharp breath and reminds herself Margo had seen this castle long ago. She had lived in it when she was a child. It must have looked so different then. 

“Six guards were stationed at the drawbridge. Everyone jumped off from their horse, and I followed suit. I had my dagger in hand, but I didn’t charge.”

Fen had watched as the men roared out a battle cry. When the first man disarmed the guard he’d fought and knocked him down on the ground, Fen flinches and looks away. And she sees Baylor hack his blade against the chainmail of the guard he was fighting, once, twice, before the links break. She calls out for him to stop. He stabs the man on the side between the broken links, plunging the blade deep, and when he looks back at her, his eyes speak of no fear, no panic; only a rage that had been burning there since the day he came back from Everholde, a look she had refused to acknowledge until then.

Fen shakes her head and ran past everyone, ignoring the rest of the battle unfolding. She picks up a shield on the ground, one that had belonged to a guard and was now tossed out of reach. Instead of running inside the castle, she stops at the other end of the bridge and walked along the side. She turns the corner and continued walking, searching for another way in. 

When Fen makes her way around the back of the castle, she hears a window shatter from four stories above and leaps back to avoid the broken glass shards that rain down on the grass and bits of the window frame, all remnants still glimmering pink with residual magic. She looks up to see a small girl peering down as she climbs over to sit on the windowsill, panic ridden all over her face. Before Fen can shout out in warning, the girl jumps, and Fen leaps forward with her arms out, readying herself to catch the girl. But Fray descends slowly, her face scrunched in concentration, and lands without a sound, all guided by her own powers. A bit of blood drips from Fray’s nose, and she wipes it away with her sleeve, panting.

“We went back to the drawbridge. I was trying to find one of our horses, but they’d gotten spooked and all ran. No one was at the bridge anymore—they had all made it through.”

Fen shows Margo what she remembers of the bridge and the guards still lying there bleeding out. One guard had charged out on his horse from inside the battlement to try and stop Fen, but he had been alone. Everyone else must be busy inside, distracted by Baylor and his friends. Fen stands back, shielding herself in front of Fray, and knocks the guard off his horse when he rides past and can’t stop in time. After boosting Fray up, she’d climbed up, too, vaguely aware of the guard scrambling up to try and catch them.

Then she tells Fray to turn around and hold tight to her waist. They ride all the way back, Fen pulling the reins desperately as she shouts out for the horse to run faster, not daring to stop until the river is in sight, and Silentspell is right across the other end. Fen unmounts herself and helps Fray down before they run all the way over, not stopping until they cross the shield, and the stolen horse runs off into the woods again.

“That was the day I brought Fray in,” Fen says. “She had never been able to speak. But she’s a Psychic, so a few weeks later, after I earned her trust, she showed me memories. She didn’t remember her name, or if she ever had one. She was too young when the King had taken her, brought in for the destructive potential of their power, just like Eliot had been. The King hadn’t cared to call her anything.”

“So why Fray?”

“Dad and I decided to name her after my mother,” Fen explains. “Her name was Freya.”

“It’s a beautiful name.”

Fen pulls away from Margo at last, missing the warmth of her touch as soon as her mind is back in the kitchen, and she’s looking into Margo’s eyes, the candle in the dish by their side all burned out. There is no judgment in her gaze, only a question, and Fen knows then that Margo wants her answer more than anything, and whatever she admits wouldn’t change the way Margo looks at her.

“I’ve never told my patrons much about Fray. Just that she was my sister,” Fen confessed. “There was no one to take over the tavern, so I decided to remodel it, and some of the villagers helped. They were the only ones who know the whole story. And Josh, eventually, when he started asking all the right questions. The people who came in after all this only knew her as my sister. And that’s all I wanted, but...”

“You regret being part of the battle?” Margo asks. “Or part of the first group of people to try and raid the castle?”

“No.” 

“Then what?”

“I’m ashamed because I don’t regret anything.” She blinks, feeling tears run down her cheeks. “I’d do the same thing again if I could go back. Because that got me my sister, and I wouldn’t trade her for anything. But admitting that means”—she draws a shaky breath—“it means admitting I’d rather abandon my best friend again than try to find out what could have happened to him.”

Fen sees Margo stand up from her seat but doesn’t turn to watch her. Maybe Margo’s leaving, she thinks, but then she feels Margo pull her into a hug from behind. She lets herself cry but stifles the sound of her sobs, not wanting to wake anyone else. When she stops, she turns on her stool to see Margo standing there, cupping her cheeks.

“I’m gonna remind you what you told me,” Margo says, inching closer. “Baylor made his choice, and you made yours. You’re not responsible for the shit the King might’ve done to your friend, or to anyone else who stormed the castle—that blame falls entirely on her. And I know saying this doesn’t change how you feel. Just like it doesn’t change how I feel. But what do you say we talk it out so we can feel shitty together?”

Margo musters a tight-lipped smile, biting back her own tears, and waits for an answer. And the sight of Margo standing there, watching without judging, breaks down the last wall of defense Fen had put around herself earlier that night. She hadn’t wanted to tell Margo everything. It would have hurt too much more when Margo leaves the village with the Blade in hand, and becomes no more than another blurred face without a name in Fen’s mind. But Fen’s emotions tumble out of her, as they always do, unwilling to compromise for the sake of one simple spell.

“Okay,” Fen says, and she means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Summary: Irene was a fool who locked Fray up in the same tower that once held El prisoner. She did not think to check the window frame for signs of telekinesis-induced tampering. So she done fucked up. (What would we do without El?)


	19. When you walk away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo told Alice she loved her. Two months later, things went to shit.

** September 2010 **

It was one of the two weeks in a year where Chicago had mild weather, enough for the days to be warm and the nights to be comfortably chilly.

Margo and Alice had been staying up all night watching the skyline from the Tribune Tower—most people thought the tower was flat on top, nothing but an air vent and four-hundred-and-sixty-two feet to fall if someone stepped too close to the ledge. But magicians had been guarding the building under the city’s watchful eyes. With the right spell, Margo could see the ward around the open roof, shielding everything in a dome of iridescent spells in case someone fell. This felt safe to Margo in the way it was familiar, having a web of magic as a last defense. 

Dawn was breaking as the neon lights blinked off gradually, the soft orange of the early morning washing over from the ground up, reflecting off countless glass windows. Alice and Margo were sitting cross-legged in the center of it all, watching the city wake up after their latest heist on Friday night. Two hours ago, a bunch of cops found a getaway Wells Fargo van tipped over, and the robbers were bound by invisible chains a few paces away.

“I never understood why people wanted to watch the sunrise,” Margo told Alice as she leaned her head against Alice’s shoulder, her sweet perfume permeating the air. “But I get it now. I think. It’s not about the sun. It’s about staying out here in the quiet with no one here to get in your face about shit.”

Alice turned to Margo with a wry smile. “And here I thought you weren’t the romantic type.”

“Only when I’m on two hours of fucking sleep,” Margo quipped. “Don’t get used to it, Kitty Cat.”

Alice’s nose wrinkled in response to the nickname, and Margo put her arm around Alice with a chuckle, feeling her girlfriend relax at the touch. Despite living in Chicago all her life, Alice never grew used to the cold. Alice was wrapped up in her black cat hoodie again, shrinking her arms back so her hands could hide in the cuffs of the sleeves.

“We’ve got a test on Monday,” Alice said, still watching the skyline. “Organic Chem.”

Margo grunted. “I haven’t done shit for chem in weeks.” 

“Sunday night, my place?”

Margo nodded, and that was the end of that. Since she and Alice had started dating two years ago, they’d settled into a comfortable routine: roaming around the city streets after dark for the thrill of the magic in their hands, crashing in Alice bed after school’s out every afternoon to make up for lost sleep. 

Even though Alice was a year younger, she’d studied well ahead of her year, and they shared most of their AP classes. And whatever studying they did was done the night before a test, with Alice’s chin propped on Margo’s shoulder as they peered over their shared textbooks. Before Margo moved to Chicago, she wouldn’t have thought herself one for quiet conversations, but here she was spending most hours of her days with the company of just one.

“What would I do without you?” Margo mused, whispering in Alice’s ear.

Alice was twirling with an amulet around her neck that Charlie’s mystery boss made, one with a camouflage charm that would put ninety-nine-point-nine percent of illusionists to shame. Charlie and Vic had extra amulets that they kept in a not-so-secret hideout in Charlie’s medicine cabinet, so Margo and Alice had used them during their heists for anonymity’s sake. “You seemed to have done fine without me before my freshman year.”

That, Margo supposed, was true. But if she were honest with herself, she didn’t give much of a fuck about her old life. Whatever friends she’d taken under her wing, she could stop hanging out with without a second thought. But Alice was different. She’d given Alice a chance to know her—something she’d never done for anyone else except Eliot.

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t used to sneak out every night for spells with a cute nerd,” Margo teased. “I had to study. You? You know everything.”

“I like teaching you.”

Margo snorted. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

Margo tucked a loose strand of hair behind Alice’s ear. “Why are you so good to me?”

Now the city was bathed in a warm orange glow, swallowing the two girls within. Alice didn’t answer Margo, only smiled before closing her eyes and leaning in, asking for a kiss. Margo went for it immediately, wishing the sun would stay low so the moment would last.

“When I was little,” Alice said slowly, pulling away to watch the rising sun. “Charlie and I used to go up into the attic back at our old house. Mom and dad used to have people over all night. We wanted somewhere we couldn’t hear all the dancing and shitty karaoke. It was a nice attic—it had a little window that opened up to the roof.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“It was. We had a whole stack of books up there. Before I started kindergarten, Charlie taught me to read. Sometimes I’d go up there alone after school, and the sunlight would be perfect for me. I used to wonder why I could still see the words on the page when it was sunset, but now I think it may have been my magic.”

“Even the sun couldn’t resist seeing you happy,” Margo teased.

Alice tossed her head with a haughty little huff. “Now you’re just flirting with me.”

“Is it working?” Margo watched Alice break into a grin and felt her heart leap. “I have my iPod with me,” she decided. “Got to download all the good shit after my birthday.”

“Margo,” Alice implored, her voice sultry and sweet. “Are you asking me to dance?”

Margo stood up and kneeled in front of Alice, then pulled out the iPod from the back pocket of her jeans. “May I have this dance?”

Alice accepted Margo’s hand and let her bring her to the center of the rooftop. The sky was still a dark blue overhead like the sun was hesitating to rise too quickly, and the wards were iridescent, the nodes between the spells flickering opal as they surrounded the two magicians and reinforced their bonds. It was quiet enough that Margo could pretend they were in a courtyard during a formal dance, hiding out from the people cackling and dancing and getting wasted inside the ballroom.

Margo scrolled through her playlist and stopped on  _The Power of Two_ by the Indigo Girls. She shared her pair of earbuds between them. The wires of the earbuds were just long enough that Margo could slip her iPod back into the front pocket of Alice’s hoodie and let it sit there. It gave her a good reason to pull Alice closer.

“I’ve never learned to dance,” Alice said, lowering her head.

“I do. My mom taught me,” Margo told her. “Follow my lead.”

Margo rested her hand on the small of Alice’s back. Alice relaxed as Margo guided them into a foxtrot, her other hand laced with Alice’s. Alice’s fingers were tingly to the touch, her magic waiting for a reason to burst. But for once, Margo’s powers were a calming presence that kept both their energies grounded. 

As they danced, Alice shook the cat-eared hood off of her head, revealing the braided bun tucked underneath. Her free hand closed around the amulet hanging from her neck, and she giggled when Margo raised an eyebrow. A few seconds later her hoodie and jeans turned into an illusion of a light blue evening dress, silky and fitted around the top with off-shoulder sleeves and a flared skirt that reached her knees, and a stream of silver threads running across the bodice like a sash. The blue made her eyes glimmer. Margo drew in a sharp breath.

“Illusions don’t always have to be camouflage,” Alice said.

Margo followed her example, let go of Alice’s hand for a second, and closed her hand around the identical amulet on her own chain, dangling next to the fiberglass orb. Her own dress was a rich burgundy that reached the middle of her thigh and hugged her figure, complete with a black cropped cardigan that stopped beneath her ribs. “How’s this for an illusion?”

“Better,” Alice whispered, her voice low and wanting.

_You know the things that I am afraid of_

_I'm not afraid to tell_

_And if we ever leave a legacy_

_It's that we loved each other well_

The song was fading from Margo’s mind as they steered along each other in this space and wished time would freeze. Alice didn’t take her eyes off Margo, but she took a deep breath and concentrated, and swirls of lights engulfed them like they were in the middle of a vortex with streams of glowing colors rippling around in a way that reminded Margo of the northern lights.

The wards grew dim compared to all of this, or maybe they decided to fade into the backdrop. Alice’s cheeks flushed pink when she noticed Margo’s awed gaze. Margo, in turn, drew Alice close enough that their hearts were pounding against each other’s. 

Alice’s heart quickened as the lights shone brighter. Margo let go of her hand and spun them both with the other hand still on Alice’s back. As Alice giggled, Margo pointed one finger up toward the sky and swirled it around the air once. A whirlwind of snowflakes appeared, spinning and flickering in and out of sight. Margo didn’t realize she was still gravitating closer until her nose touched against Alice’s.

“I was gonna ask,” Alice said, catching her breath as she drew back ever so slightly, “I was gonna ask—Charlie wanted to take us out this weekend, to Godfrey. To see the stars. Like I said we said we wanted to someday. Do you wanna come?”

Margo remembered that night Alice talked about Vic and Charlie’s stargazing trips out into the country. She remembered hearing Alice say she loved her, remembered how she’d chickened out at the last second instead of saying it back. Instead of owning up to the truth of how much of her life Alice had become. All this time she’d spent opening up her heart, and Margo still shrank back at the thought of admitting everything out loud. In the two years that she’d known Alice, Alice had brought something beautiful back into the magic Margo had grown tired of. She had brought hope.

_Baby I'm here to stop your crying_

_Chase all the ghosts from your head_

_I'm stronger than the monster beneath your bed_

_Smarter than the tricks played on your heart_

“I love you, Alice,” Margo confessed. The words jumped out of her before the fear could crawl back in. “I love you, too. I should’ve said it at Millennium Park months ago.”

Alice leaned in, tilted her head, and kissed Margo slowly. Margo could taste the smile already pulling at Alice’s soft lips as she kissed her back. When Alice finally pulled away, the song had ended, and the streams of lights and the snowflakes and even the wards faded from Margo’s view. All Margo saw was Alice, still decked in the ice-blue gown that made her eyes sparkle.

“I know,” Alice told her. “I felt it.”

* * *

** November 2010 **

Three days after they stole the Compass and got away, Margo and Alice walked down the road holding hands, feeling as if they could conquer the world. Alice swung Margo’s arm as she trotted ahead. Margo rolled her eyes, holding back her own chuckle. Alice turned back to smile at her, the tip of her nose turning as pink as her wool coat.

It was Friday night, and midterms were over, not that school was a priority to them anyway. But that day happened to be the kind of early winter when the day was tolerably cold. So they’d decided to celebrate and lingered out after school until dusk. 

They didn’t notice the suited man standing by the end of the alley until he said Margo’s name.

“Who sent you?” Margo asked, standing in front of Alice.

“My name is Everett. I don’t work for anyone,” the man said. “I’ve come to collect.”

Alice turned to Margo, a confused look on her face.

“The Compass,” Everett emphasized. “I trust you have it on your person.”

It took all of Margo’s self-control not to touch the place by her purse where the Compass was stored. She and Alice were going to use the artifact that night after showing Charlie and Vic. They had it all planned out: how they’d make hot chocolate beforehand as a bribe in case Charlie or Vic got mad that they’d gone rogue and derailed them from their boss’ plan. They’d use it to find Margo’s mom before Charlie and Vic handed it over to the boss-who-had-not-been-named.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Margo decided to say. Behind her, Alice remained silent. A quick glance told Margo that Alice had a look of concentration on her face.

“I don’t believe in violence unless there is no other way.” Everett’s tone was amiable, almost pleading. Convincing, just like Margo’s dad’s words had once been. The sound of it made Margo’s skin crawl.

“Look, we’re going about our fucking Friday, trying to get home. I don’t know why you think I have… whatever the fuck you want. Go find someone else.”

“I have been tracking the vault. Yesterday was the first time it has been open since—” Everett paused—“thirteen years ago.”

Thirteen years ago. Around the same time Margo’s mom disappeared. It was probably a coincidence, or so Margo told herself. She did her best to mask her look of surprise.

“So someone took a gold bar. Not our problem.”

“What I’m looking for”—Everett was losing his patience. He stepped closer, and Margo itched to take another step back—“is a Compass. A magical Compass. You have one more chance to give it up, and I’ll let you go.”

The street was dead quiet for a Friday evening. Maybe everyone around had gone off to happy hour. Or maybe Everett had put a barrier around the area and convinced everyone to take a detour. Either way, Everett was dead set on blaming Margo and Alice, and he wasn’t going to take their lie. Fighting was the only way out.

A thud behind them made Margo turn her head. It was Charlie and Vic, the tattoos on Vic’s hands glowing as she transported them into the alleyway. 

Margo regretted it as soon as she’d looked. A force collided against Margo and hoisted her off the ground, making her hover in the air as she was pulled to Everett’s side. She cast a quick freezing shield to set herself free by severing Everett’s spell away from her body, and landed painfully on her heels.

Alice must have tried to signal Vic telepathically. Charlie’s apartment was only five minutes away, and Margo and Alice were later than they usually were. Charlie and Vic must have been worried.

As Margo stood back up, she clasped a hand over the seam of her purse, but—too late—the Compass tore through the fabric, burning Margo’s skin where it grazed her, before flying out for Everett to catch.

“If only you’d given it up,” Everett said in mock-pity, “I wouldn’t have to do this.”

Another stream of light shot from Everett’s palm. It brushed past Margo, only an inch away from her shoulder, and the heat that radiated off of the spell made her skin tingle from the inside. It was a lurking sort of energy that simmered relentlessly, a spell that felt like a superhuman force. 

It was aimed at Vic. 

Vic tried to blip out of the way, but a large web spun itself in the air, encasing all four of them with Everett inside the alley in a seamless dome full of blue glittering wards. Margo couldn’t read what any of the formula said; the letters were alien to her, much too illegible. The spell drove Vic back until she hit the wall of the ward. Instead of falling down, she stayed there like she had been glued in place. Margo watched in horror as some of the formulas around the ward pulled out of their forms to wrap themselves around Vic, a spider web trapping its prey.

A smattering of glass shards flew out from a broken framed window that had been laying by the dumpster. Charlie was chanting furiously as he directed the sharp edges forward and fired all of them toward Everett. Everett retaliated in a dismissive wave, not moving his lips to chant the spell. Instead, Everett’s eyes glowed bright white for a second before the shards shattered into countless pieces and flew back in his enemies’ direction. 

The shards glittered like raindrops made of mercury, deadly upon touch. Margo ducked as the shards flew by. Alice jumped—she threw herself in front of Vic and raised a glowing shield, iridescent like most of her phosphromancy spells. It was a ray of energy made solid, a line of defense that could deflect and disintegrate anything large enough for the human eye to see—Alice had demonstrated it to Margo during a heist in late spring, but what had once been mesmerizing was now a flicker of lost hope. The glass shards deflected rather than burst into harmless smatters of dust. 

With a simple tilt of his chin, Everett plucked the light shield from Alice’s hand and caught it himself in midair. And though Alice screamed and protested and wished for the shield to melt Everett’s skin, it didn’t seem to hurt him at all. Everett threw it back like a frisbee, letting it soar fast enough to break bones or knock the life out of someone entirely.

The ice followed Margo’s command without a pause. Margo been gathering frost in her hands, feeling her blood run cold as they charged until she felt them grow strong enough to burst. The power rolled out in waves beneath Margo’s feet. She cast her hands forward and whispered a simple command— _stop_ —and felt everything solidify. The ice caught the shield like an extension of Margo’s hand.

During the momentary distraction, Alice stepped out of the way and headed for Vic to try and free her while Everett lashed back at Margo. Margo couldn’t run fast enough to dodge the next spell. It was a purple ray that spun around like a vortex that spun out rather than sucked in. The vortex hit Margo like a shower of fire. Margo was thrown across the air until she clashed painfully against a dumpster, the corner bruising her back as the dumpster groaned in protest at the impact. Invisible heat from the vortex weaved its way beneath Margo’s skin, smoldering all traces of frost inside of her. 

The heat was suffocating.

No one noticed the ground shaking until they heard Vic’s scream. Alice turned, following Vic’s gaze. The ward pulled Margo against it in the same way it trapped Vic. Margo watched, unable to move a muscle, as the air around Charlie glowed blue. At the same moment, Everett launched a spear headed straight for Alice’s chest. Alice moved, but she wasn’t quick enough to avoid the hit—the blade slashed the side of her neck close to her collarbone.

“Alice!” Margo called out, choking on her own breath as the heat continued to blister from her inside. She tried to move her fingers in the formation of a spell that could break her out of the hold, but whatever Everett hit her with, it was drowning her. Snuffing the magic right out.

Charlie watched his sister and reached out, but stopped himself. His lips moved like he was hissing something, a chant, and his voice was booming across the alley and growing stronger, louder. Charlie turned back to face Everett with a look of resolve on his face mixed with pure rage. His entire form disintegrated into blue flames as his chants echoed off the walls, and his voice was deafening, crackling like static in every syllable. This wasn’t the voice of the kind man Margo had come to see as a brother. This was the voice of destruction. A curse.

The last thing Margo heard from Charlie was this chant. His body burned out before he could utter any recognizable last word, leaving nothing but a ghost of his form and all of his magic. 

Charlie glided forward like he was drifting off the ground, the hardened gaze in his eyes replaced by a glimmer of glee. He tackled Everett back without strain, shoving him against his own warded dome. Charlie raised a fist for another hit at Everett, but before he could strike, the ward disintegrated itself, and Everett vanished beneath Charlie’s hold.

Margo felt herself drop back to her feet again now that the ward was released. She ran forward and called Charlie’s name, but when he looked at her, all the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced by a devilish glint. Charlie held out his hand and wiggled his fingers. Tendrils of dark smoke snaked out of his palm and made their ways toward Margo. Before they could reach her, a javelin of orange light soared through the air and stabbed Charlie through the chest. 

“ _Istreblyat_ ,” Vic hissed, firing one last spell. And Charlie was gone. All of him. Even the magical part that only sought to kill.

Margo ran forward as Alice stumbled, looking in horror at the place where Charlie had been moments ago. The angry red gash on Alice’s neck where Everett cut her was tearing itself wider. Alice wrapped a hand around her neck, her palm glowing with a white rim of energy to try and staunch the bleeding. Margo caught Alice as she fell back, laying Alice’s head on her lap. She put her hand over Alice’s and whispered a healing spell in Arabic, the only one she had been able to cast.

Vic was by their side in a moment. She lay a shaky hand on Margo’s shoulder, her fingers gripping Margo too tightly, while she grabbed onto Alice with her other hand. In a moment the three of them were back in Charlie’s apartment with Margo kneeling on the carpet by the TV. Alice’s head was still in Margo’s lap, and one leg of her glasses wasslipping off her ear. 

As Margo’s incantation stitched Alice’s skin back together in a web of golden threads, as Alice’s own magic stopped the blood from seeping out and brought color back to her pale cheeks, Vic traveled out of the apartment again, gone too quickly before Margo could call out and ask her to stay, please stay.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Alice whispered.

Margo shook her head as she shuffled back and laid Alice down on the carpet gently, unable to find words to speak as a painful lump lodged itself in her throat. 

She stood and walked to the bathroom on shaky legs, her stomach churning. There was nothing Margo could get in the medicine cabinet that could fix what she’d broken, but she returned with the first aid kit and set it on the coffee table, and looked out the window. 

It was a beautiful evening, the view so incredible it was mocking. The sun had chosen that moment to set, and it was one of the best sunsets Margo had seen in months. The sky was a muted blue that hinted at gray, caked with layers of clouds—clouds that were tinted different shades of red, glowed bright orange at the edges where the sunlight hit.

If the sunset had happened an hour ago before everything went to shit, Margo would have said the clouds looked like the scales of a large, powerful dragon. A dragon who beamed down at the little magicians on Earth, watching curiously as they tried to break the limits of their own power. Now it looked as if the sky was burning.


	20. Part Eleven: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo learns the full truth of her past and finds the freedom to move on.

**Four Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

When Margo approaches Eliot’s room after breakfast the next day, he’s alone, peering out at the door that stands ajar. She meets his eyes when she reaches to knock and walks in without question, shutting the door. 

Before she can ask, he scoots over in his bed and lets her join him. “Hey.”

“I wanted to say thank you for talking to Fen last night.”

“You’re not mad that I spilled your secrets?”

The teasing in El’s voice makes her smile despite the tightness in her chest she’d felt all morning. “I started it. All you did was offer context.”

Context, it turns out, had swayed Fen over to Margo’s side quicker she can utter a freezing spell. Something had changed between her and Fen last night, and not only because Fen had learned of her truth; sharing memories meant forcing out part of her own pain and receiving a part of Fen’s. And Margo, in turn, had developed a new appreciation for the sweet villager she’d never intended to get to know.

“I offered what history we shared.” El leans over and kisses the top of her head. “It’s been too long since we last went on the same Quest.”

He shuffles to lean against the wall and pulls her back with him, sandwiching a pillow behind them. She pulls off her boots and tucks her feet on one side, letting him put an arm around her shoulders. Fourteen years had turned El from the shy little boy who peered at her from behind wall corners into a shameless cuddler. It’s endearing as much as it pains her, knowing she’d missed so much.

“That’s what I wanted to ask you about.” She pulls the tetraglass orb out from underneath her blouse, where she’d kept it tucked out of sight. “Do you remember what happened out in the woods on my last day?”

“The snowstorm we walked into when we were seven?”

“I don’t remember much of that. I don’t know if we said goodbye. I know we were in the woods. And then we were in a cave. Someone found us. But before they did, you sang to me.”

“That song. You taught it to me months before.” She feels him draw a sharp breath, his chest sinking in. “I sang because I was scared. I was trying to keep you awake.”

She turns, frowning. It sounds so much worse to hear him describe it. What she remembered hadn’t been as bad. What would have happened if she’d slept on?

“Do you know what this orb does?”

“Tetraglass? Yeah. I read about it.” He looks into the silvery thread forming inside. “And Mira—I mean, your mom, she had one of these.”

“One morning when I was sixteen, I found this in a parcel on my windowsill.” Margo runs a finger across the surface, warming it with her touch. “I think this might’ve been hers. Can you show me what happened?”

“All of it?”

“Please.” 

_Margo keeps her hand over the orb and lets him close his fingers around it, nestling herself in his arms as the memory takes over their mind’s eye._

_She gasps when she sees herself as a seven-year-old girl, and she peers up at her younger self, remembering how small El had once been. They turn back to look at the castle now far out of their gaze to make sure no one followed, then Margo steps past the line on the snow-capped grass where the wards would have been, one foot, then the other._

_In Eliot’s eyes back then, Margo had been a protector as well as a friend. Margo feels it now in the memory as she sees little El reach out to grab her hand. “I’m scared, Margo.”_

_Margo squeezes his hand once but doesn’t tug or insist. He steps out of his own accord and smiles when nothing bad happens, though his heart pounds heavily in his chest. Once he moves out of the patch of land he was once trapped in, she steers them into the woods, pushing past the first few lines of trees in search of a path. “I’m not.” Margo turns back to face El. “And I’m here. So you’re gonna be okay.”_

“Do you remember what Gallop told us about the Questing Beasts?” Eliot asks. He brushes his finger over her hand, the memory still holding. They walk deeper and deeper into the woods, pulling the hoods of their cloaks to shield themselves as the snow rages on, covering their boot tracks almost instantly.

“The White Lady grants wishes,” Margo recalls. “Her brother, the Great Cock, sends people out on Quests. There were others. But the castle was warded tight as shit. How did we just… step out?”

“Irene left that day with your dad. They were searching for something, too. The wards dropped as soon as she was gone—the Blood Crystal’s power only works if she’s inside. I didn’t know if I could run away, but you convinced me to try.”

Margo flinches as the pang of guilt strikes. 

He squeezes her shoulder and doesn’t comment, but continues to recount, “Gallop told us the Beasts lived in the Darkling Woods. So that’s where we were headed. We didn’t know how deep we had to walk, only that we had to go East. The snow would’ve given us a head start so Irene couldn’t find me. We went in search of the White Lady.”

“And we failed?”

“I found her in the end. She’s the one who gave me the spark that led me here.”

Margo purses her lips and doesn’t argue. Fourteen years ago was too long for her to wonder how things could’ve changed if they’d found the White Lady and made their wishes all those years ago. “What were we going to wish for?”

El lets go of the orb and she follows, turning to see him peering down at her. “I wanted to go back to Louisiana,” he says, inching close to her ear. “And you—you wanted to find your mom. But you said you’d ask her to hold your wish ‘till you helped me find my way home.”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t try to hide it. Not from El. “I wish I’d been able to help you like I wanted.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. If it weren’t for you, I never would’ve left the first time. I’d still be in Whitespire as Irene’s greatest fucking weapon.”

“The El I know could never have become that.” Margo forces herself to smile. “You saved my life on the wall walk when I taught you to dance. And again out there the cave.”

“In the cave?”

“Vic helped extract my memories from that day. Only fragments. I remember we were stuck in there for a long time—but there was no snow. No wind. I thought you let down the boulders or something. Caved us in.”

“It wasn’t me. It was you.” 

“Me?”

El nods at her necklace again. Margo takes the orb and lets him close his hand over hers again, bringing them back in. She shivers immediately in his seven-year-old body and lifts his arm to shield his face. Through the gaps between his numb fingers, Margo sees herself stand tall by the cave’s opening, her hair flying in dark tangles as the hood on her cloak had already been blown off her head. She takes a step back, nearly slipping, and throws her hands forward. 

The Margo in El’s memory screams as the snowflakes around her grow solid and magnify in size, awaiting her command. She glares at the wind, daring it to knock her back, but the wind grows quieter as her magic seeps through and take form: crystal blue streams gliding out from the tips of her fingers, growing into streams as they clash against the air. A wall of ice forms in front of her and grows thicker, magic pushing against wind, wave-like patterns washing over the surface of her barrier.

She turns and gives El a tight-lipped smile as blood gushes down her nose, and as he lurches forward to catch her, she collapses into his arms, eyes closed, falling unconscious.

Before Margo pulls herself free from El’s memory, she stares into the face of the child she had been, the one El saw as his best friend and protector. She remembers the blood streaming down her nose staining the fabric of her cloak. She remembers her fear melting into his: that El would never find his way home; that Margo would never wake up. 

These were the fears her father had found and used as a snare to extract the memories from her. Not all of El, only the parts that show him without smiles. Parts that made up the full truth about her best friend.

All Margo remembers is waking up in her old bed back in L.A., dressed in a nightgown almost too small, and her dad sitting in a chair beside her, stroking her forehead. His hand smelled like lavender soap, and he was singing “Beautiful Dreamer” to her as she’d slept. She had asked what happened, why they’d come back from Fillory without saying goodbye. He had told her they, but portals tended to snag onto last memories, more so for a child than a grown-up. He’d told Margo that she and El hugged each other, and he’d promised to come back to Earth and find her when he got better.

Dad said he’d try his best to sift through Margo’s mind and bring back her last moment with El, and she believed him.

“What did he do?”

The hoarseness of El’s voice startles Margo. She turns, confused, before she sees the Key glowing against his chest, hidden underneath his button-up shirt. She’d forgotten it was there, and she’d thought of her dad as she leaned against him, and he’d felt it all. 

Shit.

“He’s a Psychic,” Margo says. “His specialty is finding memories riddled with fear. I told you all this when we were kids. I didn’t believe he’d use it on me, but he did.”

“And I let you go.” El grabs the Key with his fist, his knuckles turning white as he holds it tight and wills it to stop glowing.

“El.” She holds the orb in her hand again. “Show me the rest.”

He draws a shaky breath but nods and lets go of the Key, holding her hand again. They close their eyes as El brings them back. Margo is lying on the ground now, her head in his lap, the blood drying beneath her nose. El sings to her as he runs his fingers through her hair, holding back tears. 

_Will you recognize me?_

_Call my name or walk on by_

_Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling_

_Down, down, down, down_

The memory speeds up to the moment the ice wall shatters. Irene stands at the opening, glaring down at Eliot, who cowers but holds her gaze. She looks at Margo, unconscious in El’s lap, and tuts her tongue. 

“She’s fading before your eyes.” Her red lips curl into a sneer that makes Margo’s skin crawl. “Her daddy’s on his way up. You can come back with me; let him find her and take her home, somewhere she’ll be safe and loved. Or I can leave and tell him I haven’t found you. And you can stay out here and pray that she wakes up.”

Eliot gives her one last look, tears finally falling, before standing up, gently lowering Margo’s head back on the ground. “I’ll go. Leave her alone.”

“As you wish.” Irene walks forward and grabs his elbow, her fingers bruising his skin. “You’ll stay in the castle grounds like you were told. And I will not make the same mistake again. My ward will keep you until I say you can leave.”

The memory fast-forwards again. Irene takes Eliot back to their castle with an iron grip, her long nails digging sharply into his skin. She brings him to her study, the only room he had never been able to enter, and shows him the map that Skye had talked about—magical powers waking up on Earth. 

Eliot gasps and fixes his eyes on the red dot over the city he used to called _Lost Angels_. His gaze flickers to the name hovering on top of it, one he had asked Rafe to teach him to spell and to say. Margo Hanson.

“Her magic woke in the cave,” Irene says slowly as she lowers herself to meet his eyes. “I’d always known she’d be a force of nature; I’ve seen her mama do magnificent things with her gift. Magnificent, but destructive. I invited Margo here hoping she’d stay. I’d hoped you’d have a friend just as powerful, and I could help you both. But she had corrupted you.”

Eliot doesn’t know what corrupt means, but he understands how far Irene’s willing to go to sacrifice her own freedom to keep him in place. And he might be trapped, but at least this time he’d chose it. Margo will be safe, and she will be home.

Margo pulls out first this time, letting their view fade back into El and Quentin’s room. She looks out the window at the falling snow. “You haven’t read about my dad when you were up in the Neitherlands?”

“I found your biography. But I never opened it.” He moves his arm away from her shoulder and looks down. “I had hoped I’d find you on my own, and I could hear all your stories from you. I expected the stories to be happy.”

“It’s not your fault, El.” She turns back. “My father took away the memories we had when we were scared. For years, I believed you were happy, too.”

He lifts his head slowly. “Sometimes I was,” he admits. “Not in the way you expected, of course, but I found my own… destiny? Or whatever bullshit this is.”

“That’s good.”

“And you?”

Margo forces herself to smile again, hoping whatever she’s about to admit won’t hurt him. She had already said too much, all her little tragedies crammed up days before they were headed for near-certain doom. The rest of her story can wait.

“Am I happy, you mean?” she asks. “I don’t know. I’m... still looking.”

El opens his mouth, but closes it again. He stands up and shakes his head when she moves to do the same, gesturing to his bed with a shrug. Before he leaves his room, he lowers himself and kisses her on the forehead, and smiles back.

Margo stays there for fuck knows how long and tucks herself beneath his comforter, breathing in the scent she can’t name. Light footsteps patter down the hall. Through the door that stands ajar, Margo sees Fray pass by, heading for her own room, before she doubles back and peeks her head in, eyebrow raised.

“I’m fine,” Margo insists.

Fray rolls her eyes and invites herself in, then shuts the door by a wave of her hand without touching the knob. She kicks off her boots and kneels on the bed, and the mattress sways and squeaks in protest. Before Margo can say anything else, Fray throws her arms around Margo in a tight hug. 

Josh is right. She does know too much. 

“You’re good,” Margo tells her. “You’re _too_ good. Most Psychics can’t read minds without touch.”

Fen’s memories of her castle raid comes back to Margo. Margo doesn’t know how old the girl is, but Irene must have kept her locked up for a long time. Fray must have been taken from her home not long after El’s escape eight years ago. She must have been a baby.

Fray lets go of the hug and gives Margo a light shove. She traces the air with her finger and concentrates until letters form, small golden sparkles lined up to show the words she can’t say. _I was three. Not a baby._

Margo hides her surprise. She’d assumed Fray was eight, maybe nine. Not eleven.

“Where were you when she took you?”

Small hands close around Margo’s fist, and Fray brings Margo into a dimly-lit room with too many cribs lined up against the wall. It’s snowing outside, the winds harsh and unforgiving. A lot of the other children were crying. Their fears echo around the room, growing louder than the storm. A tiny Fray is curled up in her crib, rocking back and forth as she covers her ears.

When Fray lets go, Margo feels tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Fray swallows but doesn’t cry. _I had no home before Silentspell,_ Fray writes. _But I was from Earth, like you. Like your friend Eliot. The Lost Prince._

“She’s gonna pay for this,” Margo says. “The High King. I’m not gonna let her get away.”

Fray smiles and moves closer, and doesn’t comment. Instead of hugging her again, Fray runs her fingers down Margo’s hair and gives her a questioning look. Margo nods. Fray parts the hair on top of Margo’s head and begins to braid down the side, her hands delicate but steady. She shows memories of older versions of herself on rainy nights when she’d startle herself awake at the sound of thunder, of Fen setting a fresh candle in a dish on her nightstand before climbing into bed with her, a story book in hand. 

Fen reads to her until she falls asleep again. At dawn she wakes to see Fen curled up next to her, waking up the moment Fen feels her watching. After a night like this, Fen always braids her hair, and it makes her breathe a little easier.

When the memories fade, Fray finishes off the braid with a ribbon around her wrist and gives Margo a smug smile. She stands and waves goodbye before walking out. And Margo sits there for a few moments alone, feeling a lift in her own chest as she runs her hands down the braid, this time smiling without grimace.

* * *

On the outside, the observation tower looks stoic, standing alone amidst a field of grains. It was built when Fen was seven, a year after the shield over the village had been raised. Fen’s father had been one of the builders. 

The tower looks cylindrical from the outside and stands on a single pole of steel drilled deep into the ground. The pole is two stories high; on top, the tower expands in width as it ascends higher up, ending in a circular dome at the top. A spartan spiraling staircase winds around the steel pole, only wide enough for one. 

Fen takes Margo’s hand as they cross the field to stand below it, raising her torch to show Margo the entrance, a simple trapdoor at the bottom of the tower’s structure, secured with a lock and chain. Margo had missed it the first time she passed by the power. She had missed a lot of things in her rush to retrieve the Blade and get out. And, desperate as she still is to get her hands on something that can kill Irene—a spell, a weapon, a person?—she doesn’t know if walking out of the shield would be as easy as she once believed.

“Follow me,” Fen prompts before taking the stairs. If she senses what Margo’s thinking, her smile doesn’t show it.

Margo walks behind Fen and shakes the thought of goodbyes out of her head. She had spent the day searching in the Library, and the only thing close to a God-killing weapon she’d found was a mirror that could summon a trickster God. If she has to spend another night here—

The Key grows warm underneath Margo’s cloak, pulsing once, twice, over her chest. It tells her what she already knows: that the thought of Fen forgetting about her made it harder to leave, but the more she stays, the more she wants to get close.

Fen stops underneath the trapdoor and hands Margo the torch. She unlocks the trapdoor and pushes it in, then climbs. Once she’s inside, Margo passes back the torch and watches Fen secure it on the holder fastened to the outer wall. She’s waiting as Margo makes her way in, and holds out her hand to pull Margo up before latching the trap door shut from the inside. 

Margo looks up. The steel rod stands in the center of the winding staircase like a pillar holding up the entire structure, and more stairs wind around it. She turns to Fen with a questioning look. 

Fen chuckles, pulling off her hood. “Two more stories. The chamber’s at the top.”

This time the stairs fit two at the same time. Fen takes the torch from the holder again and reaches for Margo’s hand, and Margo takes it, ignoring the voice in her head that tells her to stop. Paintings line the outer walls: portraits of people dressed in cloaks that resemble Margo’s and Fen’s, and some of Silentspell, from a bird’s eye view of the entire village down to the colorful stained-glass back window of the Seamster’s shop. 

When they reach the landing, Fen lights the torch waiting on the wall and walks off to light the five others secured on the wall. Margo leans against the rails of the stairs and takes it all in as the warm glows wash over the entire room. It’s not a huge chamber, maybe a little larger than a master bedroom, but from the outside she couldn’t imagine something so cozy and inviting. Two little bookshelves hold a dozen books, well-worn and loved judging by crease on the spines, and a carpet and several cushions between them, waiting for someone to climb in. 

There’s a fireplace in the center of the chamber where the steel rod had ended, but no firewood waiting. The flame rises of its own accord as Margo turns to look, making her jump. It’s a blue flame, carefully contained but bursting with heat. Fen places a kettle over the fire and smiles at Margo’s look of surprise.

“Josh made a few… enhancements.”

“No shit,” Margo mutters. 

She spins around, still trying to take everything in. Potted plants, more art on the walls, and two cupboards fastened to the wall, curved to accommodate the circular shape of the room. Everything here looks perfectly mismatched just like back at the Silentspell Inn. The village folks are evidently more than generous with giving away stray pieces of furniture, but judging by how close they all are, Margo isn’t surprised. 

Margo’s eyes land on the large oval window that faces the border of the village where the woods are. There’s a table right up against it, and a cushioned swing on either side in place of seats. On the wall is a mural painted by the village children. The swings look handmade and dangle from wooden beams with more vines of purple flowers winding around them. This is the perfect place to keep watch. Or to have a date.

“What do you think?”

“It’s cozier than I thought,” Margo admits and sits on one of the swings. She pulls off her gloves and puts them in the pocket of her cloak.. “When you asked me to come out on watch with you, I thought I’d freeze my tits.”

“And yet you joined me.”

Fen sits on the other swing and smirks coyly, daring Margo to admit she’d never refuse an invite from a sweet stranger, even if it was a stranger she should absolutely stop getting attached to. The Key around Margo’s neck grows warm again at the mere thought, and Margo almost—almost—blurts out what she’s thinking: that she had wanted to climb into bed and sleep ‘till she’s dead, but Fen had asked, and she’d said yes in order to see the smile light up Fen’s face, and because the sight of Fen makes her wanna stay awake. But she keeps her mouth shut and curses Ember and Umber for creating such a pain-in-the ass contraption.

“I thought I’d come and watch the stars,” Margo says, peeking out the window. “We don’t get stars like this on Earth where I lived.”

Margo expects Fen to be disappointed, but Fen’s smirk grows wider. She tips her swing back and reaches for a switch on the wall behind her, and the circular dome opens a slit from the center down one edge before it widens to a quarter of the circle, then half, until eventually the whole top is one open sky, and the pieces of the dome folds to lean against the wall.

“How’s this for stargazing?”

“Holy shit.”

Fen giggles, swinging back and forth on her seat. Margo tilts her head up and examines the skylight, expecting to feel specks of snow falling on her skin. 

“There’s an invisible dome around it still,” Fen explains like she’s reading her mind. “And you’ll notice the stars look bigger from up there. They’re magnified, especially at the top.”

And to think, the only way Margo had ever seen a snow globe was from the outside in. Sure enough, when she squints, she can see stray snowflakes landing atop the dome. She’s vaguely aware of Fen watching her instead of at the sky.

“You do this a lot?” Margo asks. “Watching the stars?”

“Usually with Fray. She loves being up here. She used to beg to stay past her bedtime and come on watch with me—more so when she was little. She’d always fall asleep at this table.”

Margo imagines Fen carrying the little girl back home on piggyback every morning after, no doubt whining, but always giving in. It must mean the world to Fray to be loved in this way. 

“Have you two got a—I don’t know, a favorite constellation? Is that a thing?” 

Fen laughs. “Gods, not me. But Fray might. She knows more about stars than I do. She’d read anything Roan has. A few months ago she raided his astronomy shelf.”

Margo imagines Fen carrying her little sister back home on piggyback each day, no doubt whining, but always giving in. It must mean the world to Fray to be loved in this way. 

“The Key,” Fen gasps. “It’s glowing.”

Margo’s eyes widen. She looks down. Fuck. 

“So it is,” she admits with what she hopes is a casual shrug. It’s a good thing she doesn’t blush. She lifts up the Key in her palm and shows it to Fen, who tilts her head curiously as it continues to glow.

“Magic?” Fen asks.

“Yeah. Something we can’t replicate as human magicians. They do something special for us.” Margo takes a deep breath. “The Compass points to whoever’s lost.”

“And this Key?”

She really should shut the fuck up when she can, but there’s something about stargazing that makes Margo’s heart open. That’s it. It’s the stars’ fault, and nothing else. Fourteen years ago El found the courage to let Margo in on his darkest secret, not knowing if he’d lose a friend; and years later, underneath the same Fillorian sky, Margo finds a glimmer of hope blooming from her chest. 

“Hold out your hand,” Margo says.

Margo places the Key on Fen’s open palm, then draws back her own hands, her fingers grazing the surface of the table as she waits. Fen closes her hand around it slowly, and the glow fades. The truth flows out of Margo without stop, all the pent-up feelings she’d had since the night she invited Fen into her room and asked for her story. She knows if she lets herself go on spending more time with Fen, she’ll be pulling Fen deep into the irreversible mess of her own life, the same way she had pulled in Alice, then Josh, and watched helplessly as it destroyed them both. 

But selfishly, she wants to know how it feels to kiss Fen.

Fen looks down, quiet for a few seconds, then meets Margo’s eyes. She lets go of the Key, watches it dangle around Margo’s neck, and closes her hands around Margo’s. “Is this true?” she whispers.

The glimmer of hope fades from Margo’s chest, but the truth is already out. She nods slowly, forcing herself not to look away. “The Key doesn’t lie.”

Fen pulls herself in again, tilting the swing forward. Margo strains against the instinct to draw back, her toes curling inside her boots. She closes her eyes and waits. Fen kisses her, and Margo leans in, and their lips brush tenderly against each other’s, and in the moments before they pull away, Margo forgets to breathe.

“Is this okay?”

Margo opens her eyes. She answers with only a smile, not trusting herself to speak. The feeling of the kiss still lingers on her lips, and she looks up at the stars again, wishing they could tell her why it feels right. 

* * *

**Three Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Margo and Fen spend the rest of the night in quiet conversation, and neither of the mention the kiss. 

Fen tells Margo about the guests who ended up staying in the village and gives her a dozen names. None of them live more than a twenty-minute walk from the Inn. They had taken abandoned homes and turned them into a place of their own, and Fen had helped remodel their space along with her dad and other villagers who volunteered. Real estate has to be the weirdest thing about Silentspell: Margo would’ve thought a secluded place safe from Irene’s iron throne makes the most popular place to hide out and try to make a living, but half the houses are empty, waiting for someone else to move in. 

But Margo did spend the past few days snowed in, and it’s already making her antsy. Being holed up here for years would’ve been much worse, even if it’s safer. Except if she were Josh Hoberman, evidently. But Margo is the type to look for trouble, so this can never work. This… staying here. With Fen. 

No one had approached the shield throughout the night, which Margo is secretly glad about. Kissing Fen had been nice. The treacherous voice in Margo’s head is telling her she’ll screw shit up if she gets too close, but she doesn’t want to listen. She wants this to last and forget about the fucking Blade that can’t be forged.

They chat until dawn breaks, finishing the whole kettle of peppermint tea Fen had out over the fireplace around midnight, which tastes surprisingly identical to the tea on Earth but leaves an aftertaste that reminds Margo of plums. As they finish their last mugful, the rim around the oval window glows red, the aura flickering once, twice, before stopping. Fen gasps and presses her forehead against the window for a better look. Margo looks out. 

Fuck.

Standing by the river before the bridge is none other than Alice Quinn, the one person she had been able to push out her mind until now. Next to her is Vic. They’re joined by two strangers: a woman with dark clothes and auburn hair in a high ponytail, and another woman who looks like the Goddamned NYPD, uniform and low ponytail and all. 

Margo’s thought had evidently summoned trouble into this village.

Next to her, Fen grips the edge of the table with her hands tight enough to turn her fingers white. Margo turns to her with a look of concern, forcing her own oh shit’s out of her mind. “Everything okay?”

“That woman.” Fen points at the NYPD lady. “She’s my mom.”

Trouble in more ways than one. 

* * *

Fen is the one to collect the new visitors from the border, but Margo stands in the field at the edge to wait for them. Alice and Vic stop immediately, at a loss for words. The auburn-haired woman looks between them before she mutters an _ohhhh, shit_ and introduces herself as Marina. Meanwhile, the NYPD-looking lady has all eyes on Fen, who is trying to look at everyone but avoid all eye contact at the same time.

“I know somewhere you can stay,” Fen says. “I’ll, uhh, follow me.”

They don’t speak for the rest of the trip as Fen guides them through the shortcuts across the field, though Marina and Vic exchange intrigued looks as they examine the tunnels. Alice is watching Margo the whole time, but Margo keeps her eyes forward. What can she say to the one person she never expected to see again? 

Nonetheless, the truth sinks in as they reach the Inn, the unexpectedness of it all hitting Margo at once: Alice is here. Vic is alive and okay. Fen’s mom—the NYPD lady?—is back, except, how? What? And they brought another stranger.

And, despite spending three years of her life trying to forget, Margo is glad to see Alice, and she doesn’t know what the fuck this means.

Margo excuses herself when Fen takes the guests up to show them the rooms, asking her mom to wait downstairs. She walks out onto the road and paces up and down, no destination in mind. Eventually she ends up at Josh’s bakery, only to find Vic already inside—Fuck. Right. Traveler—and Margo decides to leave them in peace. Alice is more urgent, and the Key, still warm against her chest, is proof. Vic can wait.

After some more fucking about, and going up to her room, and changing into her second blouse, and roaming some more, Margo turns toward the edge of the woods. On Margo’s second day, Fen had mentioned there was a playground. And, as fate—or sheer, terrible luck, or whatever—shall have it, Margo finds Alice sitting on one of the swings, swaying back and forth as she stares at her feet.

“Alice,” Margo prompts in a quiet voice. Alice hadn’t noticed her arrive. 

It really is her. This unsettles Margo at the same time it makes her relieved. The woman in front of her looks like she had lived a whole other live from the Alice in Margo’s memory. Margo’s Alice was floral prints and shoulder-length hair tucked into a braided bun and rose pink cardigans, and a knowing smile that makes Margo grin coyly in return. This Alice is wearing a gray overcoat with sheer black tights and a black dress underneath, her hair pin-straight, stopping bluntly past her shoulder. All the soft colors had been washed out of her. _Her_ Alice was long gone, buried in a happier past. 

“Hey.” Alice’s head snaps up immediately. She stops swaying. “I was—”

“Can we—”

They stop in mid-sentence and stare, neither of them sure whether to chuckle or look away. “You first,” Alice says.

“Can we talk?”

Alice nods.

Margo sits on the swing beside Alice and turns, twisting the ropes on either side of the wooden plank that is her seat. “Are you here for the Quest?” Margo asks.

“Eliot’s Quest?” Alice thinks about it. “I’m not one of his Questers. But I’m here to assist—Vic and I, and Marina—we were looking for the Knifemaker.”

“You’re here about the Leo Blade, then?”

Alice gives a small nod.

“That cop woman is really Fen’s mom? I mean, the Knifemaker? I mean—”

“Freya told me about Fen,” Alice finishes for her. “She is. We’re certain. I was as surprised as you are, but Freya, she’s… she’s been living on Earth for years. We know it’s her from an insider source. A friend in the Neitherlands.”

“The Library?”

Alice looks surprised, then her expression drops to a guilty look. She fidgets with the ropes holding up her own string. “Yeah. My friend found her biography a few days ago. Told us where to look. Where she’d been. So Vic and Marina and I found her after her shift, and, well… she agreed to come back.”

“That’s… good!” Margo winces but can’t bring herself to say anything else. “It’s… Fen and I, and Eliot, we’ve been wondering what to do about the Blade. None of us can touch it, no one except Freya herself. So. Thanks. This is… thanks.”

Margo kicks at the snow below the swing with her boots. She’s beating around the Jesus-fucking bush. Alice Quinn is here, and not running away, and ready to talk, and Margo is… not. But Margo will be pissed at herself if she lets this go, this last chance for closure, or the truth, whatever this is.

“It’s good to see you,” Alice’s voice breaks the silence.

“I—” Margo makes herself look up and meet Alice’s eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

“I want to help. And I want to talk.” Alice’s hands tighten around the ropes. “I want you to know I’m sorry.”

A lump forms at Margo’s throat when she hears Alice say sorry, something familiar about someone who had changed so much. “You don’t need to apologize,” Margo says. “I wanted to do it, too. I hesitated, but I let you talk me into it. The heist was my decision as much as yours. None of us thought Everett would’ve hurt someone else.”

“Not just for that. For running away. Are you angry at me?”

Alice is watching Margo, bracing herself for the answer. Margo searches for the meaning of anger in her mind and draws a blank. Whatever she felt about Alice wasn’t that. “For leaving? No,” Margo admits. “All I wanted was to know why.”

“You were all I had. You, Vic, Charlie. I got him killed, and Vic… Vic walked out of my life. I was there when she left, vanished,” Alice’s voice breaks. She swallows. “But you—you were there at Charlie’s. You stayed the night. We didn’t talk that night, but I knew you were never going to just leave. You’d never give up on me.”

And Alice was right. Margo used to wish to go back to that moment, to do something that’ll get Alice to stay; never so that she can leave before she has the chance to be hurt. “Of course not. I wanted to help.”

“That’s why I left, Margo,” Alice says. “You were the only thing I had to lose. But all I did was mess things up. I couldn’t fix what I wanted to. I made it all worse: my life, and yours. I thought if I was gone, you’d be safer.”

“I didn’t give a fuck about being safe.” The words come out without filter, and Margo doesn’t look away, doesn’t take it back. “I wanted _you_.”

“I know you did.” Alice’s voice is trembly and full of guilt, a guilt Margo shares that doesn’t go away. “But I didn’t believe I was worth all that.”

Hearing Alice confess all this makes Margo want to laugh and cry at once. Margo is hearing her own words echoed back at her with the voice of someone she can’t—and doesn’t want to—ignore. What Alice says isn’t true, and Margo wants to tell her that, tell Alice she was worth everything to Margo back then. And Alice will tell her likewise. Why is it so much harder to believe this about herself?

“And all this time,” Margo confesses, “I thought you left because you were done with me. I thought I was the one who fucked over us both.”

Alice pauses like she’s coming to the same realization. “We both fucked up,” Alice says. “But we did what we believed would fix everything. And the part about Charlie? That wasn’t on us. That was Everett.”

“Guess why I’m here,” Margo mutters. 

“God, I don’t wanna do this anymore. Beating myself up for something I can’t change.”

“Me, neither.” Margo admits. “Here’s to hoping killing Everett will give us some peace.”

“Maybe.” Alice shrugs. “Sheila would’ve told me to forgive myself either way, but it’s hard. She’s the one who helped us. From the Neitherlands.”

“Sheila sounds like a wise lady.”

“She is. She’s the reason I came back to magic and everything else.”

“When’d you meet?”

“After I left. I rented a room at her house.”

“Where was that?”

“Modesto. It’s in California.”

Well, fuck. “Seriously?”

Alice nods, hiding a chuckle. “I used one of my dad’s maps, one that pointed people to the place they’re meant to go next, and my dot showed up around there. So I went, thinking that must have been the best place to get away. But Sheila was… she was a magician, too. A quaeromancer. She’s older, but her power didn’t wake ’till later, just a few weeks before I got there. So I decided to help her. I taught her what I knew.”

“You know everything. That would’ve taken years,” Margo teases. “No wonder you were gone so long.”

“Sheila was a quick study. Once she knew enough, we helped out around town. Fixed whatever we could without people suspecting us. Then I saw Vic in the mirror, and then everything else happened. Everett’s people started raiding the streets trying to find us—we must’ve caught attention somehow, or maybe they were tracking mirrors, since she had the Compass.”

“Did Sheila get caught?”

The look of guilt is back on Alice’s face. “I told her we’d both run, but she said it’d be good for one of us to infiltrate and help from inside, and Everett knew my face, but not hers. So when they came to find her, I went out the back door, and she took the blame for all our spells. They recruited her—they must’ve needed extra hands. Everett must be getting desperate.”

Margo sighs. “He’s close. I don’t know how close.”

“Freya’s finishing up the Blade now,” Alice tells her. “She says after she forges it from the moonstones it'll be ready by sundown.”

“Let’s hope that’s soon enough.”

Alice frowns, but nods all the same. “We’ll fix it, Margo.”

The words help a little bit, but Margo’s inner bitch decides to bring up old tragedies anyway. “That’s what we said last time.”

“This time we know better,” Alice quips. 

Margo and Alice exchange a look, both knowing this cycle of self-blame can go on for as long as their stubborn asses wish. Margo’s ass admits defeat when she breaks into a chuckle, too relieved to beat herself up over it. Alice joins her a second later, and they break into a fit of giggles, too hysterical to acknowledge the fact that they absolutely are not taking this as seriously as they should.

But fuck it.

Because they’re okay. Not Charlie—Charlie was long gone—but Alice, and Vic, and El, and… fuck, Josh Hoberman, too. And Fen’s mom? Everyone is safe, here and now. And whatever life-threatening jeopardy will soon be on their way, it’s ridiculous to think they’re all bunched up in a little village nestled deep in the woods, waiting on a knife.

Finally, Margo laughs it all out and exhales, sinking deeper into the seat of her swing. “I wish you didn’t have to risk your life, you know.”

“I could say the same.”

“I know it’s your decision. I’m just—”

“I know,” Alice says. “Me, too.”

There’s no use fighting it out. They’re both self-destructive morons when it comes to protecting their loved ones, so the best thing Margo can do is make sure they go prepared. And part of preparing for all this is getting to know the part of Alice’s life she’d missed, so she does just that. “So Sheila went off to the Neitherlands,” Margo brings up the story again. “And you?”

Alice doesn’t look surprised at the change of topic. “I went to Charlie’s. I hadn’t been there in years. It hurt to go in again and see everything. To know it’s never been touched since that day. But I didn’t have much time. Marina was there, trying to work the prism that could open up the mirror bridge. Harriet asked her to. And then I got it working, and I saved Vic, and… everything else. Vic’s not mad at you, by the way. She said she knew the risks.”

“She’s okay, right?”

“I saved her in time. Last time we saw her, she was angry at us, but she told me she wants to let that go. Let all of it go. Get a chance to start over.”

“That’s good. Starting over.”

Alice nods again, then breathes out deep. “I’m sorry, Margo,” she says again. “Even if you’re not mad, I’m sorry for what it did to you. When I saved her, Vic told me you were still hurt, last time she saw you. That’s not what I wanted. I think I convinced myself you’d stop caring after I was gone.”

“I’ll always care.” Margo almost rolls her eyes, but stops herself in time. _As if_ she could have let Alice go so easily. “But I don’t blame you. Really, I don’t. You did what you thought was best. I’d probably have done the same in your place.”

“That was why we understood each other so well, wasn’t it?” Alice chuckles. “We felt the same thing. All the way ‘till the end. God, and we spent all these years hating ourselves.”

“Fuck. You’re right. All these years wasted. What a shame. We really were perfect for each other.”

“Maybe if we had time. If I hadn’t run.”

The lump in Margo’s throat is back, and she forces it down and admits, “Maybe.”

“But I did,” Alice says.

_And now it’s too late._

Neither of them say this out loud, but Margo can feel it in the way Alice presses her lips tight and swallows, willing her voice to stop shaking. She gives Alice a small smile and sees Alice let out a breath in relief. 

This is the first time Margo has spoken to Alice in years, and though a lot of things about her Alice had changed, Margo can’t help but smile as they understand what they cannot say. There was a time when Margo and Alice could speak without words, when they’d cast the same spell and feel their magic echo as one. They had grown so comfortable in each other’s silence that when that silence shattered, they could no longer find the words. 

There are a lot of _what if’_ s when it comes to Alice Quinn. At night back in college, whenever Margo finds herself left alone in peace, she used to wonder about what things would have been like if Everett hadn’t ever found them three days after the heist. Margo used to play the possibilities in her head and imagine her and Alice years later, still holding hands as they sit on the rooftop of a skyscraper, watching as dawn breaks. Even then, Margo knew in her heart that there was no changing the past, and even if there was, something else might come along to fuck over the things she avoided the first time. 

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Alice. Because to stop thinking about her would mean admitting what they had was gone, when all Margo really wanted was a little more time. 

Now, though, now Margo has gotten to say the words long overdue. Now she sees the Alice in front of her, and she comes to the realization that this is okay. She and Alice can cherish the memories and thank each other for what they once had, even if they had grown out of the versions of themselves that loved each other in that way.

“I’ve missed you,” Margo says.

“Me, too.”

“For the record, I’m pissed that you’re here, willing to possibly die to help me.”

This time Alice’s smile reaches her eyes, and Margo sees a glimpse of the girl she had once fallen in love with. One who felt too deeply and forgot to be kind to herself, who wanted to fix everything in this world that hurt. “Guess I never stopped caring.”

“I don’t mind you caring,” Margo says, “as long as you don’t jump in front of spell to save my ass. The world’s full of shit. We could all use a heart like yours. And we don’t have to stop talking after… you know. Or vow to cut each other off for eternity, or whatever bullshit exes do. I was hoping we can be friends.”

“Friends,” Alice agrees. “I’d like that.”

They stand at the same time, then turn and share an amused look. After Everett and Irene are out of the picture they can talk more, but for now, they’ve said what they needed to say. Before she can walk away, Alice throws her arms around her and pulls her into a gentle hug.

Margo hugs Alice back and lets herself remember what it had once felt like to be held in this way, knowing Alice is thinking the same. They let go after they say goodbye to the memory of them, then walk off in separate ways. Something in Margo’s chest lifts as she makes her way back to the Inn, a weight she has been carrying for so long, she’d forgotten what it felt like to be free of it; to be free to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fray is the most precious child, isn't she?


	21. Look my way, never love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic fucked Alice’s life countless times. In Modesto, she taught Sheila how to avoid mistakes like hers.

**March 2003**

Alice was thirteen when her father collapsed in his study, the book in front of him wide open. 

It wasn’t the moment of panic that haunted her for years after. Alice had done everything as one should; she’d cast a stablizing charm over her dad’s chest before calling an ambulance, then Charlie. In the eight minutes before the ambulance arrived, Alice had followed the instructions from the lady on the line, and when that failed, she had run through all the healing spells she knew, sparks burning the tips of her fingers as she recited each word, terrified of stopping. 

The last syllable of her father’s locator spell still lingered on his lips as he drew his last breath, his hands twitching in anticipation. He had been teaching it to her in case one day she needed to find someone. She was thirteen, and she was the only one in the house that day, and none of her magic was able to restart his heart. 

The paramedics said it was a heart attack—that it could’ve killed anyone. She didn’t listen. Her dad wasn’t anyone, and Alice, raised in a house of magicians, had always been taught there was another way. Because magicians lived every day like they’d be the only one to escape a life-or-death situation, convinced that magic could save them when the world itself failed everyone else. 

Invincibility, as Alice had learned that day, wasn’t a discipline. Though Alice had lived her whole life understanding what magic could and could not do, she had believed her family wouldn’t be the one broken so quickly. Stephanie had been the first to cave, disowning Alice and blaming her husband’s death on a child. But Charlie, fresh out of college and trying to find his way as a social worker, had taken Alice in. 

And for the next five years of Alice’s life, family became Alice and her brother, then Vic, then Margo, too. And magic had found its way back into Alice’s life before it broke her a second time.

* * *

**November 2010**

Margo had held her in bed for hours the night Charlie died, both of them too numb to cry. At some point they had passed out there in each other’s arms, and that was how Alice found herself the next morning when she woke while it was still dark out. She had untangled herself slowly, not wanting to wake Margo, and headed into the kitchen without thinking.

Vic had been sitting at the counter, staring at the space on the couch where she and Charlie would spend their evenings curled up together, watching rom-com and poking fun at how ridiculously sappy everything had been. Alice hadn’t joined in many movie nights, but she’d hear it in her room while she and Margo poured over spellbooks, planning their next heist. 

“Vic—“

“Don’t.” Vic turned, rooting Alice to the ground with the coldness in her gaze.

“We didn’t know,” Alice tried to explain, holding her hand over the bandage on her neck as the cut throbbed again. “All we wanted was to find someone.”

To find Margo’s mother.

“Charlie and I spent months. _Months_. On stakeouts. Trying to figure out the best way to break in. Learning about their defenses, and yes, that includes the fucking magical ones, because guess what?” her voice grew louder. “They’re warded against magicians, too. Hell, I had to follow the Head of Security across town one Friday, did you know that? I followed the guy into the bar he’d go to every night for drinks. I flirted and took a shot of his bourbon. Got him to spill.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was barely audible, but it was louder than she felt, standing there in the living room that reminded her of Charlie’s whole life that she’d stripped away.

“You’re sorry?” the bitterness of Vic’s tone made Alice flinch. “What good can sorry do to bring Charlie back?”

Alice stood there, stunned, all words suddenly banished from her brain. 

“Dozens of master magicians had fought against Everett. People like us, except they’d studied for decades before they even tried to attempt something so stupid and reckless, and they still failed—hell, some of them got their powers stripped right out of them. Everett is a leech, and a son of a bitch, and so many other shit, but he’s not an idiot. No one had ever, ever, gotten away with anything when they tried to steal from him.” 

Her next words cut into Alice deeper than the wound still healing on her neck. 

“What made you think _you’d_ be any different?”

* * *

**November 2010**

Modesto sounded like the least magical place for Alice, and after everything had gone to shit with magic, she believed it was the best place. So when dad’s map placed her dot there, she didn’t question it, only booked the next flight to Stockton and took a bus the rest of the way. She knocked on the door following the instructions from the Craigslist post she’d found, expecting an unassuming little house with a room for rent.

“Alice?”

The middle-aged woman, Sheila, peered at her before opening the door to let her in. The house was comfortable and understated like she’d hoped, and she checked out every shared space without fuss before heading to her first-floor bedroom. It was everything she needed to start fresh, nothing extra, so she paid for her first month’s rent in cash and unpacked.

There wasn’t much time to pack after Vic vanished in Charlie’s kitchen. Alice had made the decision to leave before Margo could wake up and grabbed whatever she could without making a racket. She’d whispered one last goodbye as Margo stirred in their bed, more passed out than fully asleep. So Alice set down her backpack and checked her inventory: two sets of clothes, the debit card in Charlie’s wallet stuffed in the back of his drawer, and—

The snowflake necklace around her neck jingled as she brushed her hand against the chain. Fuck. She’d grown so used to wearing it, she hadn’t taken it off since Margo had given it to her. The memory came back to Alice without warning, a night they’d spent curled up in her bed at Charlie’s, whispering to each other about their powers.

_“When did you know you were a phosphromancer?”_

_“I was really little when it started,” Alice had told her, shutting her eyes. “Mom was always angry. With me, especially. Sometimes dad. Never Charlie. And I remember wanting to run into her as little as I can. I’d sneak around the house when she was in her room and stay in my room if she was out, and one day I’d forgotten to listen to her footsteps and walked right into the kitchen when she was in. Only she didn’t see me.”_

_Alice opened her eyes and saw Margo looking at her with a pity that made her want to shrink into herself. “You turned yourself invisible?”_

_“That was the day I realized I could bend light.”_

_“For what it’s worth,” Margo had said, “I think it suits you. More so when you make pretty lights in the air or make yourself glow after a heist.”_

_“That wasn’t intentional.”_

_“Sometimes accidents turn out nice.” Margo looked down, embarrassed about what she was going to admit. “I thought it was pretty. You bending the light to let me see you.”_

_The small rhinestones on Margo’s necklace shimmered under the pale moonlight from outside the window. Alice reached out a hand to touch the snowflake pendant, smiling when she felt how warm it had become, always lying so close to Margo’s skin. “What about you?” Alice asked._

_“I don’t remember why it started. Only that when I came back from Fillory, it was there. Ice powers. But when my mom was around, she used to show me how to catch the snow. Maybe I found my discipline before Fillory. I’m not sure.”_

_“She gave this to you?” Alice looked at the necklace._

_“Not her. My dad.”_

_“It’s beautiful.”_

_Margo reached up and unfastened the chain around her neck. Before Alice could protest, she’d laid it in the center of Alice’s palm, curling Alice’s fingers around it with a gentle hand. “I want you to have it.”_

_“But it’s—”_

_“It’s a gift. It’s a selfish gift,” Margo added, thumbing her cheek. “That way you’ll always be reminded of me.”_

Even now, even as Alice had run away from the life she’d been ruining for years—her life, as well as Margo’s—Alice, believed in the truth of her words. She couldn’t bring herself to take the necklace off, but she’d tried to forget about it. It had almost worked until one night she found Sheila sneaking out the back door. She followed, and discovered that Sheila was a magician, too. Her powers had only just woken. She was a Quaeromancer. 

And when she asked Alice for help, to learn to control her newfound ability, Alice had tried to talk her out of it. She’d told Sheila magic wasn’t all it was hyped up to be. The real thing was messy and impossible to get right. But she couldn’t refuse Sheila in the end. Not when Sheila told her all she wanted to do was help out where she could.

Maybe Alice’s decision to teach Sheila had been selfish, too, but she did it anyway. She taught Sheila all the Popper hand gestures and the theories of spellcasting and the limits, things dad had rambled to her and Charlie over. She’d forgotten how much she remembered until she found herself reciting the words without thinking. 

Maybe Alice had been trying to redeem herself by agreeing to help because she couldn’t do anything right with her own magic, but she could stop someone else from fucking up the same way.

* * *

**October 2012**

Twenty-three months into Alice’s stay, Sheila had progressed to practical applications. Sheila had been trying to purify a glass of water for hours before succeeding at last, letting the room grow dim as the sun had gone down outside her window. Alice had congratulated her and said they were finished for the day, but Sheila didn’t leave her seat. Instead, she asked, “Was there ever a time when magic didn’t hurt you?”

“Not always. It used to make me happy. Made me feel safe when nothing else could.”

“What happened?” Sheila asked, then added, “I know it’s not my place. And you don’t have to tell me shit if you don’t want to. But I keep wondering why you were so against it at first, me learning what to do with my powers. You made it sound like a death sentence.”

“Magic didn’t save me when I needed it to,” Alice said, searching for the right words. “No matter how many spells I mastered. It didn’t save Margo. Or my dad. Or my brother.”

“I’m sorry,” Sheila said. She didn’t pry about what happened, and Alice was glad. Instead, she asked, “Why’d you agree to teach me, then?”

Alice touched Margo’s pendant without thinking, searching for the right words. She thought about all the spells they attempted in the dead of the night when they played vigilante. Alice wasn’t sure if they’d made anything better for the city when it came down to it. Only for themselves. Magic was dangerous because of how selfish it was—so much power in one person’s hand, giving them more control than anyone should have been entitled to.

“Because I don’t think it’s the magic that’s fucked up,” Alice said. “It’s me. But I figured you’d have a shot at making better choices. I can try to set you on the right path, and you can do better shit with your magic than whatever I tried to fix.”

And she told Sheila about Margo, about the heists they’d pulled late at night and how they’d fallen in love, thinking they could do this their whole lives. Be heroes and see where the magic takes them. Then she told Sheila about the Compass, and Everett, and Charlie, and everything else that went to shit that night. She didn’t go on and on forever, but only focused on the parts that reminded herself of how cocky they’d been. 

Alice had thought once that she’d be an exception to the fuck-up stories she’d heard growing up, of all the other magicians who wasted their lives away, trying to exceed the limits of their own so-called gifts. She knew the risks, so she’d act accordingly, right? She’d make better decisions than the people who used spells like a cheat, ruining others’ lives to better their own. And Margo, surely, would do likewise. Alice had trusted them to do it together—to prove magic could do good things. But all they’d really done was get cocky and cave to their selfish will to prove they could pull off a bank heist. 

Magic was exhilarating until it was overpowering. Until it was too much to hold back before it fucked them over.

Sheila shook her head. “Listen. You were out there, at—thirteen? Seventeen? Trying to save someone’s life. It’s not an easy thing for a paramedic, and it’s not gonna be an easy thing for a teenager. Even if she’s the best magician around. When I was that age, I was sneaking bills out of my mom’s wallet trying to pay back my dealer. I got caught out in the park one night, high off my ass, and my mom never forgave me for that. But what’s done is done. I was young, and I did stupid things. I didn’t give a crap about what I did. But you always gave a crap. That’s why you’re so hard on yourself.

“And I know it’s hard to wrap your head around it when all you’ve got to go on is the version of things you remembered. But I wanna tell you what I see. I see someone who pushed herself to do what no one else should’ve been asked to do when she was supposed to be growing up. She should’ve been learning from mistakes that’ll get her in detention. Not ones that could’ve gotten herself killed.”

But Charlie died because of it.

Sheila didn’t sound angry, or if she did, it wasn’t directed at Alice. Alice winced anyway, as if defensive of her own self-hate. 

“You and your girl, you two didn’t fix the system, but you changed a few lives. You were trying to do the impossible. Trying to save the world when so many adults are doing their best to wreck it all back up. It blew up in the end because you were so busy trying to see how many people you could save, you’d forgotten to save yourselves first.”

“It’s too late now, isn’t it?”

“Depends.” Sheila tilted her head, thinking. “Is Margo dead?”

“No!” Alice said quickly. “Not—not the last time I checked,” she stammered.

“Then it’s not too late. I’m over here in my forty’s trying to learn Popper Twenty-Seven. You can get your life back. You’ve got plenty of time. And so does she. But you gotta allow it to happen.”

That night, after Sheila had gone to bed, Alice looked into the bathroom mirror at the girl she no longer was. She took off the necklace and stared at her new reflection and how bare it looked. The next morning she’d packed and padded the necklace inside an envelope and mailed it to Margo’s house with no return address, only a note that said forgive me.

When she came back, a pale-faced Sheila was heading for the door, preparing to run out and search for Alice. She pulled Alice into their bathroom and pointed at the mirror, and Alice saw Vic standing at the other side in what looked like the hallway of a library, bleeding from the cuts on her body. In her hand was none other than the Compass that Alice and Margo had stolen, then lost. With a shaky hand, Vic had written three words with the blood on her fingertip, the message reversed but decipherable.

_Get me out._

* * *

**October 2012**

Alice attempted to rescue Vic from Sheila’s mirror, but her spell had taken a wrong turn and opened up wormholes in every other mirror across town, and she had spent the rest of the day trying to fix them all without drawing attention to herself. But that had been too little, too late—that evening, a man and a woman dressed in formal clothes were on Sheila’s front steps. Instead of running, Sheila had told Alice to sneak out the back door and given herself up to the authorities, claiming it was all her doing.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Sheila had whispered, “let me pay you back. I’ll find a way to contact you at the Library—I’m sure they’ve got ways.”

Thanks to her stalling, Alice had managed to skip town. For the next three weeks she’d wandered around California, waiting for news. News came in the form of a very bored-looking brown rabbit, blurting out instructions in Sheila’s voice: An emotional bond must be present to find Vic. And to do that, Alice needed to find a mirror in a place where they had been family.

Vic had been bleeding so much the last time Alice saw her, and that was three weeks ago. The anxiety of not finding her in time, ironically, helped keep Alice’s mind grounded on her flight back as she concentrated on the spells she would need to reopen the mirror bridge. Once she reached Charlie’s door, she felt her stomach churn. She had left so abruptly that she hadn’t considered what it meant to abandon the place that had so much of Charlie in it. 

The kitchen looked the same as she remembered.

Alice shut the door before she let a sob break out, but she didn’t have long before someone walked out of her old bedroom, a red-haired woman dressed in all-black, her high ponytail swaying behind her back. She held her arms up in surrender when Alice prepared to fire off a spell, but the smirk on her dark lips suggested she wasn’t a stranger to magic.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” the woman said, opening her palm. A fireball hovered above her hand two seconds later, the heat ruthless and intense as it grew in size. “I’m Marina. I’m a magician. I’m here to help. Try not to kill me.”

It took another fifteen minutes before Alice believed Marina’s story: she was working for the same person who once hired Vic and Charlie to search for the Compass. News had broken out around Modesto about the wormholes in the mirrors, and their boss had put two and two together. Charlie’s address was on file. And Marina sent her condolences about Charlie.

Marina had watched as Alice attempted the spell without comment. Alice closed her eyes as she recited the incantation, not wanting to face a stranger in a place that had been her home. She thought about Vic meeting her for the first time a year before she met Margo. Alice had been worried about getting in their way, but Vic had already heard stories about her, all good things. Vic had been a sister to her before she had a reason to be angry. She was Charlie’s happiness as much as he was hers, and she had to destroy the rest of him after he’d destroyed himself.

Alice could stand there and berate herself for hours over how she had ruined their lives, but she had over two years to do just that. Hating herself wasn’t going to help her now. Charlie was gone, but Vic had a chance to be saved.

She opened her eyes and watched the prism set on the coffee table in front of the mirror, and let the light refract as she wished. She heard Vic stumble out of the mirror and looked up to see her form emerge. Marina caught Vic as she fell. 

“Can you travel?” Marina asked.

Vic met Alice’s eyes and offered her a smile that looked more like a grimace. Then she nodded, and Marina told her where to go so they could get help—some point of contact on the Navy Pier, same place Charlie talked about once. They vanished a second later, and Alice was alone again, but she couldn’t cry anymore. Maybe the spell had sucked all the emotions right out of her.

Five hours later, Vic came back alone, changed out of her blood-stained clothes and looking as if she’d been healed. They looked at each other and said I’m sorry at the same time.

“You were right,” Alice said. “It was stupid of me.”

“Not stupid.” Vic pulled her into a hug, sniffling as she propped her chin against Alice’s shoulder. “In over your head, maybe. But weren’t we both?”

“Where’s the Compass?”

“Not now.” Vic pulled away, swiping a few tears off Alice’s cheek. “Marina will be back tomorrow. She’ll explain everything.”

It really had been a long day. So much that Alice couldn’t find it in herself to argue. She plopped down on Charlie’s couch by Vic’s side and didn’t feel like getting up for the rest of the night.

“What were you doing in a mirror?”

“Looking for a way out.” Vic shrugged. “Or, well, praying not to die. Or both, usually at the same time. I meant to come back all the way, you know. I had the mirror bridge all set up, both ends ready to go. One of Everett’s cronies shattered it with a paperweight and trapped me in.”

Alice winced.

“Joke’s on them. I had the Compass when I went through. Margo handed it to me, you know, since I’d be the first one through.”

“Fuck. Is she—”

Alice stopped. _Okay_ would not have been the right word. 

“She’s alive. Saw her through one of the mirrors. I don’t know where she is, but if you want, I can try—”

“Not now.”

“Okay.”

“How is she?”

Vic gave her a sad smile. 

“Last time I saw her? Devastated.”

“I fucked up,” Alice said.

Vic shook her head. “I think there’s been enough fuck-ups to last us decades. How about we give it a rest. Just for tonight.”

“You’re not leaving?”

“Not if you don’t want me to. And I really am sorry for leaving you back here the last time we… you know.”

Vic put her arm around Alice and pulled her in. Alice lay her head on Vic’s shoulder and closed her eyes. Vic ran her finger through Alice’s hair like she used to do on nights they both couldn’t sleep before Margo came into her life. They used to spend hours sitting on the fire escape talking things out, sharing nightmares about their past that they kept from Charlie.

“I understand why you did.”

She felt Vic shake her head. “I spent a long time stuck in the mirror world thinking about it. Regretting all my life’s choices. All that classic ‘oh shit’ stuff people go through when their life flash before their eyes, or whatever happens in movies like that. I know why I did what I did, but that doesn’t make it right.”

“It’s okay.”

“It wasn’t. Not to me,” Vic insisted. “Charlie was family to me, the first I had since I’d aged out of my home. And when he died, I was so focused on what I’d lost, I didn’t remind myself what I had. You. I came back into the kitchen a few hours later. Margo was gone by then, too. I tried to track you down—”

“I made myself untraceable.”

“Of course you did.” Vic chuckled. “You really _are_ good.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You saved my life. That’s good in my books.”

“I’ll keep telling myself that,” Alice stated. “One day maybe I’ll believe it.”

“Good enough,” Vic said. “Listen, I… I’d like to start over. Stay with you. We can try to be family again—if you want. If not—”

Alice turned to face her, cutting her off. She smiled. She missed a lot of things in the two years that she’d spent hiding from her old life in Modesto. She’d been thinking about Margo for most of that time. But before Margo, there was Vic. And Alice had missed being part of her life as much as she missed being part of Margo’s.

“Okay.”


	22. Part Twelve: Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen catches up with her long lost mother, and Margo shares memories.

**Three Days before Midwinter’s Eve**

“Mom.”

The name sounds strange to Fen after spending so many years avoiding the word. They stand inside the Forge gazing at each other, neither of them knowing what to say. Fen had found her above, waiting at the entrance by the tall hedges surrounding the fountain. She wears a low ponytail instead of the single braid down her back like Fen remembered. Fen didn’t recognize her face, she would have believed this woman to be another stranger from Earth. Her mother Freya dresses like Josh and Margo did when they first arrived: dark, form-fitting trousers and a knitted top and jacket. No cloak.

“So many years have passed,” Freya says. She reaches out but stops, shakes her head, and steps back. “You were this big when I left.”

Freya brings up her hand to the same height as the workstation table on the far end of the room. It sits close to the wall with tall stools tucked underneath, opposite of the cushioned bench and the sunstone swords display on the other end. A large anvil sits in the middle of the table, nailed against the wall waiting to be struck. The setup had been here since before Fen was born, and Fen hadn’t thought to change it besides adding more dents to all the surfaces her hammers could touch.

“I’ve missed you.” Fen finds the moonstones in the velvet box tucked inside their usual hiding place and gives them to Freya.

Freya studies the fire already lit in the hearth, nodding to no one in particular. Josh had set the flame level to Fen’s preference. While Fen could adjust accordingly, though, she’d found that most days, the flames shifted themselves based on her will.

“I wondered how much you’d remember about me,” Freya says.

“Some,” Fen admits. “Mostly from what dad tells me. Have you talked to him?”

“I went by the lake when he was on patrol. We’ll talk more later. I wanted to find you first. I thought I’d find you here. And the trapdoor—”

“Used to open for you, not me,” Fen finishes her sentence. “Until I came back here after the storm the year you left, thinking about all the work you’d left behind. That’s when I knew you weren’t coming back.”

A look of guilt crosses Freya’s eyes. She looks down at the stones instead of at Fen. “Sometimes the magic knows earlier than I can admit.”

Fen watches her mother work and holds a sharp breath when her mother picks up the moonstones. To her relief, they don’t glow or burn her when she weighs them in hand, but they stay settled, waiting. She follows her mother to the center of the forge, where she welds the stones one by one with fire from the hearth, turning the tongs quickly before they were all heated—all the same techniques Fen had picked up when she’d watched her as a child. 

“Where have you been?” Fen asks.

Freya turns back to her, deciding for a pause before she asks, “How much of the stranger do you remember? The one who commissioned the Blade?”

“Margo reminds me of her. She’s—”

“I know who Margo is.” Freya picks up the stones with a long set of tongs, holding all five steadily as she transitions them to the anvil. “And you’re right.”

“So Margo’s mother,” Fen utters. “What happened? Why did she leave?”

Freya picks up a hammer from the crate standing in the corner. “One day after the Blade has done its deed, Fen, I promise to explain everything. But now, I would like to hurry and finish the Blade.”

“He’s close? The man who steals powers?”

Freya nods, then strikes the stones, now fused together in one single line. Fen is surprised to see how delicate she handles the strikes— the hammer barely touches the surface. The stones, in fact, appear to morph of their own accord, and the hammer acts like a guide rather than a blunt force. Soon Fen can make out the outline of the entire weapon, from the handle to the pointed tip.

“Closer than we expect,” Freya tells her. “That’s why Alice and Vic found me, see. Everett is searching for a source. A God. Once he succeeds, we must be ready.”

“Thank the Gods you came back. I wanted to help Margo and Eliot and their friends, but I didn’t know if I could.”

“Moonstones are sentimental. Difficult to work with, and never bond with more than one maker. But you have done well to keep them secure.”

“ _ Stowed beneath the earth, growing without light _ ,” Fen recites. “That’s what you told me. This was why we moved the Forge underground, beneath a greenhouse, of all places.”

“I knew you’d work it out.”

Freya strikes the stones some more, mostly across the upper half, what would become the blade itself. When she’s satisfied, she dips that end into the quench tank to cool, letting them sizzle. Fen ponders her next question. Freya gazes up at her after dropping the half-finished blade back on the anvil.

“Did you know you were going to leave, mom? Is that why you taught me how to care for the stones?”

The hammer stops in the air, and Freya lays it on the table before turning back to Fen. “I wasn’t certain I had to go, but I thought it was a possibility. Mira—Margo’s mother—her enemies had a way of drawing anyone out. I told you as a precaution.”

A precaution. Fen swallows. No one expects to make use of the precautions in place until they find their hands tied. If her mom hadn’t told her… 

Fen shakes her head, clearing the thought. “What happened that day?”

“Mira came here hoping to the Blade would be forged in a matter of days, not years. She hadn’t anticipated it would take so long for the moonstones to mate and duplicate themselves. I can understand how desperate she was—as long as the King and Everett were out there, the safety of someone she loved would be compromised.”

“Someone besides Margo?”

Freya nods. “Someone from before Margo was born, before Mira married the man that would be Margo’s father. Her name was Hannah. Their memories of each other were compromised, and for years, they lived separate lives in separate places. Mira’s memories came back first; Hannah’s followed the next winter. That’s why Mira found her way here in search of the Blade. Before the King and Everett rose to power, they were mentors. Mira and Hannah were their students, training to destroy one another.”

“But they fell in love,” Fen says.

Last night, as Fen and Margo were walking across the field to the observation tower, Margo relayed what Eliot told her about her mother; about the woman she’d never gotten to know, a large chapter in her mother’s past with a sad ending.

Freya brings the hammer back down, the strike not loud but still echoing. “Mira wanted to use the Blade to destroy the King and Everett so they could be free.”

And because of the tyrants, freedom comes at too high a cost. 

“And Mira was the one who made the deal to shield us away?”

_ Strike, strike, strike. _

“That was my fault, in part.” Freya stops striking, sets down the hammer, and wipes her forehead with the back of her hand. “ The King and Margo’s father were searching for Mira—they’d heard she may be in this Kingdom. The portal Mira went through was placed in the King’s family mansion on Earth. She was alerted to the break-in. It didn’t take long before the King’s mercenaries found me. I was at the free market upstream when they captured me. You and your father didn’t come with me that year because you’d fallen ill, and he’d stayed behind. Mira realized they’d found me, so she found a way to contact the Fairy Queen and make a deal.”

“I thought fairies wanted nothing to do with us.”

“Mira helped them once in the past. Tried, but hadn’t succeeded. Still, the Queen decided to grant her a favor. So the shield was raised. It was the only way to protect the village. The memory charm was a fail safe in case any more of the villagers were compromised.”

That must be why none of the King’s guards had broken through the enchantment or attempted to do so. Even if a Psychic was forced to pry into their minds, they wouldn’t be able to remember anything about the visitors who had passed by, seeking shelter.

“How did you escape from the Castle?”

“I was locked up for a few weeks. Perhaps months. Time was difficult to gauge when I was in the dungeon. I gave away very little when the King attempted to interrogate me. By then the shield was up, and the King had no way of tracking down our village. I had no hope of being found, since the wards around the Castle were impossible to break through, until one day, Mira and Hannah found their way in. Mira had been spotted in the woods outside the village, chasing after Hannah, who had found her own way here. The wards lowered when the King left the grounds to search for Mira. It was snowing that day when we walked out.”

It was snowing the day the stranger left the village. Fen had a feeling they only remembered she had been here at all because the Fairy Queen wished for them to understand why the Blade needs protection. “That was the first winter storm.”

Freya frowns. “The first?”

“Every year, it gets worse,” Fen tells her. “Winters used to be much kinder. Now we’d count down the days before Midwinter’s Eve, wondering when the storm would strike at its peak. The magic of the land, I think, it remembers that day as much as we humans do.”

Freya ponders it, but doesn’t respond. Instead she continues her story, pulling out a stool from under the table. “We thought we were free. We were searching for the White Lady—Mira had heard of the tale as well as I. I wanted to come home, and Mira and Hannah wanted to go back to Earth and find their children. We were close by the edge of the Darkling Woods when Everett found us. Hannah lost her life when Everett stole her magic. He would have killed us all if he hadn’t teleported away after Hannah’s magic was absorbed, more desperate to search for the Gods than to deal with us.”

“I wish I’d known.” Fen sits down next to her mother. 

“We did find the White Lady,” Freya says, “but it was too late. She couldn’t bring back the dead. But she offered to bring us to a world between worlds, the only place where Everett and Irene were banished. I chose to go with Mira because I’ve been compromised in this Kingdom. I wanted to keep you safe.”

“I thought of the worst,” Fen admits, “but dad and I both felt in our hearts that it wasn’t true. We prayed to Ember and Umber, too. I don’t know when they hid themselves away, but I remember it was around the time you disappeared. That must be why they didn’t answer.”

“They hid after Everett found his way to this Kingdom, Gods know how. They knew it was time to shield themselves away. They had been planning this for years. A hiding place with only one back door, and two artifacts that will lead someone to them.”

Two artifacts, both uncovered in Eliot and his friends’ Quest. Fifteen years, Fen thinks, was a long time to search, but it was even longer to wait for someone who may never come back. “The Compass and the Key.”

“The Key, they left with the Great Cock,” Freya says. “The Compass was hidden on Earth in a security vault in Chicago. And now it would appear your friends have tracked down both.”

“All that’s left is the Blade.”

Her mother’s smile fades a second after it forms. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And before this? You were in the Library?”

“For a year only. Mira stayed much longer to keep Margo safe, in case Everett was keeping an eye on the Hansons. She would have been tempted to find her child if she went back down. But I had already left home. I had nothing else I could lose. So when a new prophecy spun from the biographies, and Zelda, the Librarian, tasked us to deliver a book to Brooklyn on Earth, I volunteered.”

“What was the book?”

“A story of Fillory. The characters were purely fictional, but the Kingdom was described as I’d remembered, though they’d left out the most morbid anecdotes in our history—it was intended for two children, so the rendition was reasonable. I found one of the children, the boy, from reading his biography. He was fated to receive it and show it to his friend. I boarded the same train as he and his father one day and slipped it into his bag.”

“And the boy? Where is he now?”

“He’s one of your guests,” Freya says, amusement slipping into her voice, “partner to the runaway Prince. Quentin Coldwater.”

Fen would have startled if the many, many revelations of today hadn’t all flooded her mind like a blizzard. She will process this later. For now, she lets it fade into the backdrop, and asks instead, “After that, where did you go?”

“I stayed. I’d planned to find my way to somewhere with magic, but magic found me. There were a group of magicians who called themselves hedge witches. They thought I was one of them, but when they found out the truth, they embraced it. And I found work among them in the city. They work as police detectives. Like sheriffs, but different.”

That brings a smile to Fen’s face despite the many new worries that her mother’s reappearance brings up. Her mom had found a home in a strange world with a skill that she adapted to fit the way the Earth runs. Fen remembers her mom sneaking up to join her dad while he’s on patrol during the day, how he would pretend to be bothered but grin too hard and gives himself away, and let her tag along. 

Her mom and dad grew up together as best friends like Fen and Baylor did. Her dad was the Sheriff’s son, but her mom insisted he taught her archery and knife-throwing and all the other skills he’d been made to learn as a boy, insisting it would be good knowledge for her blacksmith business. Fen was so young when her mom left, but a lot of Fen’s memories were drawn from how others reacted to the loss of Freya. How dad had looked, strolling out alone at night after putting her to bed.

“They had their own patrol team?”

“On Earth they’re called precincts, but yes. Formal patrol units in an established base. No one in the city was any wiser to their magical line of work, but they were famous among the magicians, feared as well as respected. A lot of them had their own criminal records, but magic was good at erasing old paper trails. Eventually they put themselves through the academy and trained like everyone else, and tried to put their past behind them.”

“Why did they go through all the trouble?”

“They were helping people who lost their loved ones to magical crimes. Things that vanish too quickly for formal legal systems to track down. They weren’t the only hedge witches; there’s an entire network of them underground, connected by means that most people can’t trace. But when they weren’t helping others, they were searching for one of their own.” Freya sighs. “For Hannah.”

Fen’s eyes widen. How was it that all of the people in Fen’s crossed paths with all of Margo’s? “Hannah’s daughter is here on the Quest.”

“I know about Kady,” Freya says. “I saw her at your Inn earlier. She didn’t look like she wanted to talk.”

“Maybe not yet.” 

Fen thinks about Kady. She hadn’t spoken to Fen much, but the night after Fen talked to Margo about her past, she’d been sitting by the fireplace in her lobby, unable to sleep. Kady had joined her downstairs and told her why she was here. Her Quest was for closure more than freedom, and Fen understands the need for answers.

Freya nods. “After the battle, then.”

The battle that is now a part of Fen’s future rather than a possibility. Gods, it had been so much easier when raiding the Castle again was no more than a thought, or a dream, riddled in Fen’s own guilt.

“What was it like?” Fen decides to ask, hoping for a distraction while they wait. “Being a Sheriff on Earth?”

“More outlaws to catch,” Freya concludes after a pause. “Their weapons are unforgiving, and, mind, I say this as a knifemaker—this is why I left my pistol back at the station. This Kingdom has enough violence as it is.” 

At Fen’s confused look, Freya continues, “The Earth implemented harsher systems to try and keep people in line. That’s the difference between Earth and Fillory—people search for their own beliefs, or wait to be told, or reject what they’ve learned. It leads to lots of good, but as a detective, I deal with people who turned the other way. Still. It was strange at first, learning to live on Earth, but I’ve come to see the merit in that. In living in a land with no known Gods that reveal themselves.”

“How did that happen?”

“From what I heard while I was in the Neitherlands, the Earth’s growth happened mostly by chance. It was an accidental creation. A glitch, as my sargent would say. The Gods’ intervened very little, if at all. It was strange for me, but in the end, I saw merits in the way their humans had adapted. My friends, my fellow detectives, they believed in nothing but each other. They were intent on saving themselves. And when they succeed, if they have a little magic left to spare, they’ll try to save a little bit of their world, too.”

“They sound like incredible people.”

“If you ever meet up, I’ll be sure to introduce you.” Freya taps her belt with the empty holster, frowning, before she adds, “I’m not sure how much my words would mean, Fen. I haven’t been in your life for years. You’ve grown in unimaginable ways. But I want you to know I’m proud of you. I’m proud of your work.”

“My knives?” Fen looks around at her displays, smiling. “I had a good teacher.”

“Your blades are incredible in their own ways” Freya smiles. “But not just that. I meant everything: how you look after your father and your new sister—I hope to catch up with them both and introduce myself to the sweet girl, once I set the Blade to rest. And the Inn. The way you shelter people and help them back on their feet by offering work, taking them in without expecting to remember every good deed you’ve done—you’ve saved this Kingdom more times than you give yourself credit.”

“I don’t know about saving the Kingdom. I do what I can.”

“Small acts of kindness, make a world of difference, even if for now they remain invisible.” Freya reaches forward and closes her hand over Fen’s, running her hand over Fen’s knuckles. The callus on her thumb reminiscent of the one on Fen’s hand, formed after years and years of welding and hammering hard metal. “One day, my dear, it will amount to something incredible. I have a feeling that day is close.”

* * *

When Fen arrives at the greenhouse before sundown, Margo is standing by the trapdoor behind the tall hedges, already waiting. Her hair is still braided like it had been last night, only strands of hair had been tousled in the wind all day, looking as frazzled as the rest of her. Margo doesn’t say anything, only stands aside to let Fen unlock her forge. They descend the ladder in silence and climb inside, and hear the familiar sound of the door clicking shut above, locking them in.

“The Blade’s ready by sundown,” Margo says, repeating what Fen’s mother had told everyone earlier that day.

Margo’s voice sounds scratchy like she’d been screaming too hard, and Fen’s chest pains at the sound of it, wondering why so much had happened to someone so brave. Fen nods and takes the box out of the back drawer. She stops in front of Margo, her hand inches away from hers.

“It’s ready,” Fen says. “Who’s joining you?”

“Don’t know. They’re at the Inn. I’ll ask.”

It sounds so selfish now to ask Margo to stay. Fen had known since the first day that Margo had never meant to make a life here. Even when she had hid the truth from Fen, she was honest about leaving. A lump sits at the back of Fen’s throat as she considers what to say. She hands the box to Margo and closes her mouth, swallowing back the words.

“Thank you.” Margo looks at Fen, the dark circles underneath her eyes ever-present since the day of Eliot’s return. “For everything.”

“Do you—”

Fen says before stopping. She doesn’t know how to complete her sentence, not in a way that doesn’t sound awful of her. Do you want to come back? Do you know how to break this shield? This curse that makes me forget?

“What if I come with?” Fen asks instead.

Margo’s pause takes her by surprise. Fen had expected an adamant no, but perhaps Fen had underestimated how much everything had grown on her. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I already am,” Fen says, repeating what Eliot had told her that day at the schoolhouse, whispered words surrounded by the lanterns meant to lead the lost men home. “Every day I stay inside here, waiting for people I won’t remember, it hurts me. I was okay with it until Cassia came, and in time I was okay with it again. But you reminded me of it last night.”

And Fen had felt the truth from the Key. A part of her had told her to stop. To turn back before she could get herself hurt again. But Fen had never been good at holding back. 

“I’m sorry, Fen. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It wasn’t you who hurt me. It’s the King. And it was my choice to kiss you. I don’t regret it.”

Margo looks up at the ladder but doesn’t move to climb up. Instead sighs and sits at the bench against the back wall, surrounded by ornate glass shelves filled with Fen’s ceremonial daggers. She gives them time to speak despite wanting to run out only moments ago, for Fen’s sake,perhaps. 

“I’ll find a way to come back. I can find a fairy—Whitespire’s full of them. There has to be a way to talk to their Queen.”

Fen shakes her head. “Fairies never break their deals.”

“Then I’ll make a new one after Irene and Everett are gone. I can give them the Compass, or this Key, if the Gods don’t demonlish them as soon as we find out where they’re hiding. I’ll ask them to lower this shield and take one.”

“What about your mother?”

Two nights ago, Margo had told Fen about searching for the artifact and losing it twice. She had been willing to face off against a man intent on becoming a God. A malevolent God. And here she is, offering it as a trade.

“It’s more trouble than it’s worth.” Margo scoffs. “Even if it points me to her. And I don’t know what I’ll say if I find her—it’s been years since she left. El told me she was at the Neitherlands when he passed by nine years ago, but she wasn’t there last time I checked. If I stop by again I’ll… fuck, I don’t know. I’ll find her book and read it. Something.”

The Neitherlands. That was the place where Josh had last saw Margo before he landed in the woods that day. And he hadn’t told Fen much besides that he’d lost a sister and got separated from a friend, but this morning one of the strangers turned out to be Vic, the traveler in Josh’s many stories about his life. Josh had introduced Fen to Vic, unable to keep the grin off his face. He had looked at Vic like how Fen had looked at her mom—gone for so long that he had considered the worst possibility.

“Margo,” Fen asks, reaching for her hand without thinking. Margo stills at the touch but doesn’t pull back. “What happened that day at the Neitherlands?”

Margo considers it, then pulls out the orb around her neck and lays it in her palm. She looks into it, gazing back at her own reflection, and Fen can see tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. Fen opens her mouth to tell her sorry. She’s stalling, she knows, because she doesn’t know if Margo can find her way back. But Margo sets down the velvet box with the Blade on her lap and takes Fen’s hand.

“I met Josh when I was nineteen,” Margo says as the Forge melts away in their view. “I was in college—a community college, one I could afford from my job at Starbucks, ‘cause by then I didn’t want my dad to pay for shit.”

Fen finds herself spinning in a vortex of bright colors. When the memory sets, she is standing on a crowded street, watching as vehicles passed by on the open road, fast carriages that ran by themselves instead of being pulled by horses. There are so many curious things about Earth, but Fen doesn’t get to look around much before she’s moving again. She’s in Margo’s head, and Margo is familiar with this place. Margo tilts her head up to look at the sign on the coffee shop on her right before making her way in, waving to two women standing behind the counter in green aprons.

“This is the coffee shop where I worked. One of three in East Rochester. A corporate chain—you don’t know what that means.”

“I know what coffee is. We have a variation here. But not that.”

“The recipes are all pre-formulated. It’s… Never mind. I was working here, and Josh was working at a bakery across the street. He made their best stuff. That’s where I’d go after my shift each day to study. And he was usually there.”

Margo brings them to a different corner of the same street, one with a view of her coffee shop outside the window. She’s pouring over a large open book with stark white pages, small words printed alongside various diagrams of three-dimensional spheres that makes Fen’s head hurt when she tries to take a closer look. In front of her is a muffin on a plate and a mug of hot tea. Someone slides into the seat in front of her, prompting her to look up, an annoyed scowl already forming. Josh.

“Josh started recognizing me ‘cause he worked there. I thought he was a creep—I nearly told him to fuck off that day. But he whispered something to me. He said, you’re the only magician I’ve seen around town. I don’t know what gave me away. Could’ve been this orb around my neck.”

“That was before you stopped practicing magic?”

Margo sighed. “I was. I guess. Not as much as when Alice was with me—we used to do spells all the time, whenever we could. And there, it was more… whenever I remembered to.”

Fen doesn’t ask about Alice. She knows enough from what Margo had revealed to understand their breakup had been painful on both ends, triggered by reasons outside of what they could control. She runs her thumb against the back of Margo’s hand in comfort as she stares into Josh’s face, the memory pausing in her mind’s eye.

“Anyway. We started talking more. Whenever I went there after work. He’d try to bribe me with free cakes—I usually said no, but they were good, so occasionally I thought, fuck it. And we became friends. And that was his first mistake.”

“I don’t think he regrets being friends with you.”

Margo pauses and lets go of the orb, bringing them back to the Forge. Fen recogizes guilt when she sees, and she knows Josh just as Margo did. He sees the bright side of everything. But he might be the only one.

“I didn’t know where he was,” Margo said. “If he was alive or dead. And Vic was with us, and she’d had it much worse. I was the only one who made it back to Earth, and it wasn’t fair.”

Three people showed up at the village’s border today, and it changed the course of everything. Fen hadn’t known what happened to her mother, and it had been a long time since she wondered. 

“Is that why you stopped?”

“Why I quit magic?” Margo looked down, rolling the orb around on her palm. “It was the final straw, I think, but it’s been building up for years. It took me a long time to snap.”

Fen put her hand over Margo’s again, and Margo hesitates, but brings Fen in again. 

She’s in some kind of atrium deep underground, so far down she could hear the sound of water gushing inside the fountains no doubt surrounding her, separated from her by the thick walls that held up this space. Her footsteps echo as she runs to the large brass-framed mirror standing against the wall. Vic is in front of her, tracing a shape into the mirror with her own blood. Vic turns around, holding her hand out. Margo throws the Compass to her, and she catches it and climbs through the mirror like it’s a portal.

The paperweight soars through the air faster than Margo can make it stop. It shatters across the surface of the mirror. Fen finds herself screaming in Margo’s voice as she turns to see a man in a full suit standing in the middle of the circular chamber, having appeared only a moment ago. Josh shouts out a spell as he catches up to her. It almost hits the man, but dissipates.

“His name is Everett,” Margo’s voice shakes.

Everett looks so unremarkable in appearance alone, but the corners of his mouth quirk in a thoughtless smile, and the sight of him makes Fen’s skin crawl. Margo steps in front of Josh and blocks the counter-attack. It lifts her high up in the air and suspends her, pinning her against the wall.

Margo threashes against the invisible restraints pinning her against the wall, which feels cold under her skin. When she touches her palm against it, she feels the familiar sheen of frost blooming across the tiles. If only she can crook her fingers and direct the ice to him—

Everett lifts one hand, holding it steadily at a distance across Margo’s chest. Her ribs begin to ache as a dull force threatens to tear her chest in half right down the middle. Something emerges from her chest. A small figure with shoulder-length hair and straight bangs, tilting her chin up as she strides onward, hiding her fear. 

This must have been Margo as a child, nestled in the velvety fabrics of a lilac cloak. A Fillorian cloak. Margo opens her mouth but doesn’t find her voice.

“Was this a memory?” Fen asks.

It takes Margo a moment to recognize Fen’s voice. 

“No,” Margo says quietly. “My Shade.”

Everett pulls the Shade away from her, his eyes glinting in delight as he takes in the small form. Shade magic was an enigma that most magicians dedicated their lives to study to no avail. All they knew now is that when harvested, the Shade was a powerful weapon. Alice told her that once.

‘Alice,’ Everett says. His voice is in her head, his consciousness prying far deep into hers. ‘A shame about Alice. She could have been spared. But you had to involve her in something she had no business tampering with. You ruined her.’

At the thought of Alice, the Shade turns back to Margo for one last look. Her wide brown eyes, once set in a determined gaze, now brim with unshed tears. The sound of the fountains underground fade, replaced by Alice whispering to Margo she loved her; El singing as she drifted off into a dreamless sleep in the cave during the storm; and her mother’s incantation, the words raspy in a way that soothed her all those years ago when she taught Margo to catch the snow. 

Margo’s scream fills the chamber. She pulls one hand free from his bind and throws out a shard of ice shaped like a boomerang. It darts past Everett, barely missing his shoulder, all the way to the end of the chamber before turning back. 

In the second the ice shard embeds itself hard into Everett’s back, Everett loosens his hold. The child runs back to Margo and embraces her. Margo doesn’t let go until she feels the Shade back into her own chest, filling the hollows of it all back with the pain she had forgotten she held. She couldn’t it up the part of her that cared. Who was she without any of that?

Fen tightens her hand on Margo’s hold as the memory fades into another. She sees Josh pulling Margo away as another spell from Everett hits. The chamber spins out of view as they run all the way up the spiraling stairs, up until they emerge above ground, surrounded by fountains with stone statues. They follow a path they remember, putting distance between themselves and the people chasing after them.

They stop at a fountain marked with a red X, and Margo crosses one leg over into the water. Josh looks at her as she prepares to jump in, and looks at the people running their way, dressed identically to Everett, hired to do their bidding. And then he runs away from the fountain.

‘Trust me!’ he shouts before Margo can call out his name. ‘Go!’

He casts a spell behind his back without speaking and pulls something from his back pocket. A Compass—no, an illusion of one. He waves it around tauntingly, and he’s far enough to fool Everett’s cronies. They run after him as he makes his way down the path, and Margo tries to climb back, but the fountain’s powers have already sucked her through.

The orb drops from Margo’s palm and lands on top of the velvet box that holds the Blade. They’re back at the Forge now, and Margo looks at Fen, no longer trying to hide the pain in her eyes. Fen pulls her close and lets her bury her face into the crook of Fen’s neck. She doesn’t sob, only breathes in deep. 

“Josh shouldn’t even have gone,” Margo says, her voice muffled. “He’d known Vic for years. We got talking, and eventually we realized we both knew her. She’d been searching for the Compass again. She found it in the Library. So we spent months studying the layout, trying to plan another heist. We were so close.”

Fen runs her hand down Margo’s back. “You didn’t know he’d be there?” 

Margo picks up the orb and puts it back around her neck, pulling away. She leans against the wall but turns to look at Fen again. “He was banished years ago. But the banishment only works for mortals. By then he was too powerful. So he seized the place.”

Fen’s gaze traces down Margo’s chin, her neck, to the spot on Margo’s chest where the Shade had been pulled out of her once. Margo reaches to pull up her blouse, but stops.

“Does it still hurt?” Fen asks. 

Fen’s gaze traces down Margo’s chin, her neck, to the spot on Margo’s chest where the Shade had been pulled out of her once. Margo reaches to pull up her blouse but stops. “Only when I try to do magic.”

“Is there a way to heal it?”

“It’s not a wound. At first I thought he must’ve broken something. My Shade. Me. But I didn’t need him for that.” The bitterness in Margo’s voice makes Fen flinch. “I was already fucked.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.”

“I tried to make it better. To do something good.” Margo lifts the lid of the velvet box and peers inside. The Blade glows at the sight of her, beckoning. “To fix what I’d done. But I make things worse every time I try.”

For years, Fen had guarded the Leo Blade with more caution than all the other weapons in this chamber, even the machete she’d once made when she was nineteen that could cut through a thin sheet of steel. It had sounded like the deadliest weapon, able to take the life of an immortal. To Margo, perhaps, this represented a final chance to make amends for all the times she’d lost against Everett. But risking her own life for someone else’s greed sounds like too cruel a price to pay.

“You’ve seen me at my worse,” Fen says. “And you still asked me to try and forgive myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the scene with Fen and Freya at the Forge happened:  
> Beta: There is no way you can fit all that subplot into one section.  
> Sas: Hold my angst.


	23. Part Thirteen: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Margo talks about feelings and makes a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote this chapter, I imagined the song “Bad Liar” by Imagine Dragons playing. If you like romantic music with feels, give it a listen. It’s honestly Margo’s song. *Clutches heart*

**Three Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Margo should have been on her way to the Castle an hour ago. It’s difficult to tell how much time had passed from underground, but it had been dusk when she’d come to the greenhouse. Fen had known her well enough in the six days they’d shared to figure out her plan. Worst of all, Fen knows exactly how to convince her to stay.

El, surely, would have caught on by now, if not everyone else. But there’s no sound of anything outside Fen’s underground retreat. This moment is theirs only, and Margo doesn’t want it to end.

“You’ve seen me at my worst,” Fen says. “And you still asked me to try and forgive myself.”

“It’s different.” 

_ You’re _ different. 

Margo’s mistakes happened out of her own selfish need for answers, but Fen had made a difficult choice. She protected Fray, who would have otherwise suffered like El did. And Fray deserved none of what happened to her.

“Because I protected someone?” Fen frowns, looking at the box still lying across Margo’s lap. It feels so weightless now, not like it did when she first held it moments ago when she entered the forge. “Aren’t you planning to do the same?”

Fen will argue this all night if she has to, and right now, staying here sounds very, very tempting. But Margo already knows why she resists it so much, the idea of forgiving herself. To let go of her guilt now means someone else has a chance to take the Blade and sneak out like she would have done. To let someone else to fix the problem she hadn’t fixed the first time means allowing them to get hurt in her place.

“I am,” Margo admits, “because I might not forgive myself now, Fen, but I want to get better.”

For once she tells the truth without meaning to lie. Without relying on magic instead of words. And for once, instead of saying anything back, Fen reaches for Margo’s neck. Fen’s hand brushes against Margo’s collarbone before she loops her fingers underneath the cord that holds the Key and pulls off. She closes her fist around one half of the Key and leans forward.

“Can I show you what I see?”

Margo nods and touches the Key that begins to glow. She feels Fen’s truth rather than hears it spoken: the pounding of Fen’s heart growing rapidly whenever Margo takes her hand; the way Fen finds the corners of her mouth lifting along when she sees Margo smirk and knows she’s in for a teasing; and the involuntary turn of her head when she hears Margo speak so she can read her lips and remember every word.

_ Protector. _

Fen thinks it as Margo turns to look at her, her fingers twitching where they hold the Key. That word brings up a thought from Fen’s mind that shares between them, a glimpse of Margo on the day she ran out after Fray into the snowstorm, standing at the edge of the field holding Fray’s hand, snowflakes dusting her hair and a grin on her face--the Key doesn’t show full memories, but sometimes an image accompanies the truth.

“I did what anyone would’ve done.” 

Margo lets go of the Key, heat flashing beneath her cheeks.

“I don’t give a  _ fuck _ ,” Fen whispers the last word, “about what they could’ve done.” 

Fen tucks the Key back underneath Margo’s blouse. The corners of Fen’s mouth quirk up when Margo stares back without blinking, trying her Goddamned best to hide how flustered she must look. Fuck. 

“Don’t you?” Margo manages to ask, hoping she sounds composed.

As if the fucking Key hanging down Margo’s neck is still glowing and giving away all her dumb little secrets, Fen leans closer until the tips of their noses touch and places a hand on Margo’s shoulder to steady herself. “You’re the one who ran out and brought my sister back. What you did mattered more than what anyone believed. Much more.”

Margo doesn’t respond, but she feels her stomach drop in warning. The treacherous voice in her head echoes her fear.  _ Pull the fuck away _ .

She ignores the voice and kisses her. 

After tensing for a second, Fen kisses Margo back.

Fen inches herself closer on the bench until their knees bump against each other’s. The warmth of Fen’s lips ripple across Margo’s skin, coursing through Margo’s nerves in sharp bursts. Margo cradles the back of Fen’s head and buries her hand in Fen’s hair, breathing in the smell of iron dust and firewood smoke singed in like an essence.

The treacherous voice falls quiet in Margo’s mind, replaced by a thought that makes her heart squeeze: she has dated dozens after Alice had gone, never more than a month; and she had slept with dozens more, never longer than one night. The last time a kiss felt good instead of distracting, Margo was eighteen, and she was okay.

When Margo finally pulls back, she finds herself smiling without deliberation. Fen takes a deep breath and chuckles in response, her cheeks turning an endearing shade of pink. 

“Goodness,” Fen exclaims. She lets go of Margo’s shoulder to hold her hand, lacing their fingers over the velvet box sitting on Margo’s lap, so nearly forgotten. “The shield could never take this away.”

“I wish it takes away nothing,” Margo says.

Fen’s smile is sad, but she tilts her chin up, sounding hopeful. “I may not be able to remember a face or a name, but I always remember how it feels.”

“Is that a loophole?”

“Perhaps. It means you can find me again, and I would know you meant something. Something I never wanted to forget. And when the shield lowers at last, I have a chance of finding my memories back. Our memories.”

“Doesn’t that make it harder? The wait?”

“A possibility is much better than nothing at all.”

Margo wants to tell Fen she deserves more than a holiday hookup with a stranger she’d known for six days. But Fen is capable of making her own decisions, and Fen had chosen to give them a chance. For a chance like this, the least Margo can do is offer a promise. 

“What if I can do you one better?” Margo asks.

She sees Fen curl her lips, amused as well as intrigued. Her teasing had worked as she’d intended. Now all that’s left is her gift.

Margo reaches behind her neck and unhooks the golden chain that holds the orb. She loops her arms over Fen’s shoulders and fastens the pendant over Fen’s neck, then takes the orb back in hand. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers alongside the smooth surface that’s always cold. She thinks about their kiss that woke her instead of numbed her, about the fire crackling behind them and the velvet box with the Leo Blade sitting in her lap the whole time, momentarily forgotten. Then Margo lets the pendant drop, watching the silvery thread form, then flicker, then vanish again.

Fen looks down at the orb, then stares up. “I can’t--”

“It’ll be an easier wait,” Margo tells her. “You’ll see me while you wait for me. You’ll remember my name.”

“How can I see what’s inside?”

“The orb doesn’t need to work with a spell. Not if you want to revisit the memory alone, without a guide. All it needs is intent.”

Fen weighs the pendant in her hand, marveling as the substance inside reveals itself to her, glittering silver one second and becoming transparent the next. “How much can it hold?”

“Vic told me it’s infinite. Memories don’t take up physical space. What we need is a reminder to begin to trace our way back to the past—that’s why the thread shows up when you search for a clue.”

“Then help me,” Fen says. “Show me something else to remember you by.”

“What do you want me to find?”

“Something happy.”

This gives Margo a pause. She thinks about all the shit that has happened in the years leading up to her mission to Fillory this winter. When Margo was with Alice, she had a lot of happy memories; and before that, she had El. But those memories belong in the past--her past. She wants to give Fen something that’s just her. Some unadulterated moment of her past that hasn’t been fucked over by new revelations. 

Another moment from Margo’s past comes to her mind, a time before conspiracies or rogue magical missions late at night or lost friends. A time when magic was a little spark of something extra, a secret Margo and countless other people shared. She touches the orb and lets Fen do the same, her hand brushing over Fen’s collarbones. 

It’s snowing that day. It never snows in L.A., but that year Margo and her parents had traveled to New York City. They’re attending some kind of grown-up party in a penthouse where everyone dresses nice. Her dad is by the bar, talking to one of the other men in suits and holding a champagne flute and shaking their hand, making another deal. Margo peeks out the window as she shuffles around on a beanbag chair by the corner of the room, bored out of her mind. She doesn’t make a fuss, though, because she’s five, which means she’s not a baby anymore, which means she can do what the grown-ups do: sit nice, be quiet, and think boring thoughts.

Margo tries for ten seconds before she’s interrupted by someone tapping her shoulder. She turns and sees her mama crouched up next to her, barely containing her smirk like she wants to make trouble. “It’s snowing,” she whispers.

“It’s cold,” Margo points out. But she’s looking at the window still, knowing she’d rather go out and see what cold feels like.

The memory fast-forwards until Margo and her mom are standing outside with their coats on, tilting their heads up to watch the snow fall. Margo and her parents had gone straight to the penthouse through a portal opened by the host, never taking the time to step out, so it’s windier than she expects, but not unwelcome. Margo tries to catch a snowflake in her hand and groans when it melts in her palm. 

“The snow likes it cold.” Her mama turns to her and lowers herself to the same level. “But it might stay longer if you ask nicely.”

“How?”

Her mama lowers herself to the same level, placing her hand underneath Margo’s so they’re both trying to catch the snow. She lifts their palms up toward the sky and tilts her head up, but she doesn’t whisper a spell. All she does is watch before her gaze travels down to their outstretched hands again. 

Margo gasps. A few snowflakes hover an inch above her palm, pausing in the air as if considering her mom’s request. Her mom puts her free hand over the snowflakes, palm down, and lifts. One snowflake begins to grow in size, glimmering like crystal underneath the light from the streetlamps. It looks uneven like it’s missing bits and pieces, far from the symmetrical images on gift wrappers and stickers on the windows of storefronts.

The snowflake turns in the air as Margo stares at it, as the memory fades. Margo lets go of the orb and shuffles back, and stops herself from turning away. 

“You have her smile,” Fen says.

“People used to tell me how much I look like her. People my dad knew. That’s all they’d say--that I was her spitting image, a miniature version, whatever. I didn’t know what to make of that. But her smile?” Margo shrugs. “I can work with that.”

“And her discipline. Did it have to do with snow? Or ice?”

“Not exactly.” Margo wrings her hand. Before she has a reason to redact the rest of her thought, she adds, “Mine does. Cryomancy. It’s… ice magic.”

“Was that the day it woke?”

“I don’t know.” Margo thinks back to the cave, the missing part of her past that El showed her. “I don’t think so. But still, that day, it was… something. I was happy.”

Fen nods, then looks at the velvet box on Margo’s lap and purses her lips. Margo knows what she wants to ask: if Margo plans to go out there alone, or if she’ll let Fen come with. 

“If you want to help,” Margo decides, “we need a plan.”

“You’ll let me come with?”

“El and his friends have their Quest. I have my scheme of vengeance, or whatever the fuck this is. But this is your Kingdom. And once we’re at the Castle, we can look for that friend of yours. You can stop beating yourself up over running away the first time.”

The smile that lights up Fen’s face is worth every ounce of this shitty, reckless decision.

Something clicks behind Margo. She jerks back and sees the glass cube with the sunstone daggers had opened itself up, the glass panels parting to allow a space for someone to reach in and take one of the weapons. “Jesus fuck.” She looks at Fen again.

Fen chuckles and lets out a breath of relief, too. “Sorry. I should ask Josh for a silencing spell. But it’s… it’s alright.”

“I didn’t break anything?”

“It’s magic glass crafted by a Desert Nymph. I traded my sharpest sword for it for years ago. All my shelves here are built with them. They’re immutable by human force. They never shatter, but they listen to intention, nothing else. They can detach themselves when they choose.”

“But why now? Why me?” Margo watches the cube hover in space, the glass still parted like an invite.

“The glass opens for someone who intends to defend. Not someone who wishes to hurt. That’s why I decided to implement them as protection.”

“I’ve got the Blade.” Margo opens the velvet box and peers inside. The moonstones have been shaped into a sharp dagger like she expects, and they’re not glowing anymore. When she tries to touch the handle, it burns. “Oww! Shit. Right. God powers.”

“Ember and Umber will be able to help us,” Fen assures her. “Once we find them.”

“I hope they don’t live all the way across the fucking mountains.”

Fen chuckles, then nods to the cube. “Take one.”

“One of your set? But that’s--”

“Please,” Fen says. “The Leo Blade can’t be wielded just yet. Take one as a precaution, in case we run into trouble on our search.”

Fen glares when Margo tries to argue again. She grumbles, but gives in, reminding herself that she’d need it more than most. Her magic’s been rusty since she’d tried to quit it altogether, and while that hasn’t worked out so great, it’s obvious that she can’t rely on it to stop Everett. She’d never had before; why would now be any different?

Margo grabs the smallest dagger out of the cube. It’s heavier than she expects, and the cold surface is smooth to the touch. The sheath is still in place. The dagger is too beautiful for messy business like murder, but Fen had crafted them with the intention of more than just art.

“Interesting.” Fen tilts her head. “It’s the sharpest from the set. Intended to deceive.”

Margo slides the dagger down the shaft of her right boot. With the fur lining and buttoned flaps on the side, it doesn’t look like there’s anything tucked in at all. “It’s the easiest to hide. That’s why I chose it.”

Fen watches her, looking like she wants to kiss her again.

“So,” Margo starts, her voice falling quieter. “We can go back. Back to your Inn. I--”

“What if we wait?” Fen cuts in. “One more night. We can go after sunrise tomorrow. That gives us a day before we--before I forget.”

“Oh. I…” Margo should say no. The sooner they get rid of their problems, the better. But she had gone six days without the God-killing weapon, and Everett hasn’t ended the world yet. “What do we do while we wait?”

“I don’t know.” Fen sighs. “But I never want this to end.”

What Margo wants say will hurt like a bitch when she steps outside the border tomorrow. She can stay silent for the rest of the night, or hold Fen close enough so she doesn’t have to look her in the eye and say goodbye. That’s what she had done in the past every time she finds someone she can’t bear the thought of losing. It had cost her so much time—time she could have spent living her whole truth.

“I wish,” Margo admits, not turning away, “I never have to go.” 

Tonight, she tries to be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I like to say—sweet soft shippiness heals most of life’s shittiness.


	24. I’ll put us together back at the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady found the trailer she used to call home.

**August 2012**

Penny and Julia left in search of potion supplies after Kady’s nineteenth birthday and didn’t return to their place for three days. 

By “their place”, Kady meant their room at Mayakovsky’s gigantic house that he called a school, which they’d all been admitted to after Julia’s graduation from high school. Once upon a time, Mayakovsky had two dozen students or so at a time, but now the old grumpy magician accepted protégées whenever the fuck he pleased—his words. Initially, Mayakovsky arranged three rooms for them, but after watching their “googly eyes” at dinner on their first night, he’d told them to drop the nice act and stay in one room where they’d be free to fuck.

It was also here that Kady found out what Marina was up to. Mayakovsky was the one to rescue Marina from the corner store that day, and she spent the next five years of her life studying under his tutelage before venturing out. A few weeks after Kady started studying with Mayakovsky, he gets word that Marina had found Harriet, and now worked for her.

Kady was starting to worry, but every time she tried to approach the subject during a solo battle magic lesson, Mayakovsky would wave her off and concentrate on beating the shit out of her scarecrow targets. He’d track them on his globe and tell her they were on their way back, uncharacteristically calm for someone who used to scold them for finishing breakfast five minutes late and wasting their precious lesson time.

Around midnight the third night, Penny and Julia burst through the front doors wearing identical smiles. Mayakovsky gestured vaguely to Kady, who had been waiting for them by the fireplace, before excusing himself and leaving for his own room. Kady, for her part, was equally relieved and angry.

“Where the fuck were you two?”

“We found it!” Julia exclaimed.

“We found the trailer!” Penny added, his glee mirroring Julia’s.

Any hint of anger Kady had faded from her face, and she stared at them in disbelief. All this time, they’d been searching for her mom’s old trailer? She’d only told them about it once, one drunken evening several months past after Mayakovsky introduced them to his homemade Stolichnaya. And they’d remembered.

“It’s in Delaware,” Penny told her.

Dazed, she took their hands, and let Penny zap them all to what looked like a junkyard in the middle of nowhere. There were dozens upon dozens of vehicles, mostly cars, a few buses, a motorcycle or two. The trailer stood at the end, still whole like it hadn’t been parked there that long ago. 

“Took us a while to track it down. It’s been through five sales, you know,” Julia put a hand on Kady’s shoulder. “Eventually it was worn out. But we thought you’d like to know.”

The trailer had been repainted from the outside, barely recognizable now except for the silhouette. But when Kady stepped in, she felt like she was four again, only everything was smaller because she’d grown. It was the same home she’d remembered, though—the hint of old leather that never went away no matter how many deep-cleans her mom had attempted, that purple stain on the wall of the kitchen from when Kady tried to make a smoothie and had forgotten to put the lid on… even the floor creaked the same way. And yet all the memories Kady had of this place were far away, and only looking at them now, Kady realized she hadn’t missed this first home as much as she’d made herself believe.

The truth of it all hit her like a storm—Kady hadn’t been old enough to remember much of this trailer, and her other homes, even the house in Scotia she and her mom lived in with Todd and Marina for only a year, meant more to her than this trailer ever did. She’d spent many hours sitting on her bed watching her mom mutter to herself, her eyes haunted, determined as she steered the wheel and drove into another middle-of-nowhere in search of what she now knew was a person. Mira. 

Kady had remembered the life they’d lived on the road than the literal space they encompassed. This trailer was once Kady’s whole life, but that life had evolved so much that it no longer fit in these four walls. And before she knew it, she was sobbing, mourning the loss of a home she wanted to care for and cherish and miss more than she knew she ever could. Eventually, she passed out on the bed, her sobs fading into gentle snores as she fell into a dreamless sleep, vaguely aware that Julia and Penny had joined her on the now-upholstered bed that she used to sleep in every night. 

Kady didn’t wake up until the crack of dawn nudged at her through the cracks of the broken windows of the trailer. She rose and heard Penny and Julia talking quietly a few paces away, debating what to do about the trailer—Julia was suggesting a teleportation vortex, and Penny a decomposition-reintegration. Neither of them brought up the possibility of abandoning it. But Kady wasn’t sure she wanted to take this piece of her past with her.

With a chuckle and a shake of her head, Kady sat in the driver’s seat and looked out the windshield. She imagined her mom sitting there years ago with three littered coffee cups on the coaster, searching for the next stop. Kady remembered thinking her mom looked so lost back then, and years later, learning what she had been looking for, had only made it more so.

That was all Kady really knew of her mom besides the fact that she’d loved her and tried to give her her best life. But the truth was, Kady had grown into her own person. She couldn’t follow the example of someone who’d left so long ago, she didn’t know how much she even remembered of who she was. 

She hadn’t even thought about the music. The cassette tapes in the box in front of the passenger’s seat that still sat there when Kady opened it now. She remembered the songs her mom liked, but only the titles; the melodies sounded like the records stacked up in Harriet’s storage room, Eliot humming alongside it, lip-syncing and occasionally dancing to it all drunk-like to make her smile. So she closed the box again without trying to listen to any of them. Some things were better kept in the past. 

Penny and Julia were still quietly waiting when she’d emerged and closed the door behind her with a soft click. As Kady reached them, Julia spoke first, her soft voice breaking the silence as she looked at the trailer. “What do you wanna do?”

Kady stopped for one last look at the house on wheels that used to be her whole life. It was incredible how small it felt to her now.  _ Thank you, _ she thought.

With a shake of her head, she turned back and gave her partners a smile, and reached for their hands. “Let’s go home.”


	25. Part Fourteen: Kady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady and Margo pay the High King a visit.

**Three Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

All is quiet in the reception chamber as Kady and everyone sits around the fireplace, waiting with bated breaths. Marina glares at the fireball sitting an inch above her open palm and twirls it around clockwise, but when she sees Kady staring, she gives her best attempt at a reassuring smile. It would’ve worked if it were anyone else, but Kady knows Marina too well, so the smile comes off as _ I hope we’re not all dead at the end of the night _ instead.

Appropriate, but not the most helpful when Kady’s trying to recite all the battle magic spells that might save her ass.

Kady is squished into a single armchair with Penny on her side and Julia balanced on both their laps. They turn to her at the same time. Jules takes her hand and laces their fingers. Penny, though, gives Kady a skeptical look.

“Are we sure she didn’t go off on her own?” Penny breaks the silence.

Across the room, Eliot lets out a deep breath before he drawls, “Margo said she’d be back. Give her time.”

Marina shrugs and stops twirling her fireball. “Ten more minutes. Then we can send out a search party. How’s that?”

No one argues with that, though Eliot rolls his eyes, and Quentin gives Penny a pleading  _ lay off him _ look which Penny promptly ignores. Alice and Vic watch the room from the dining table without speaking save for the occasional look exchanged between them. They’ve all been camping out here since dinner had ended and all the other patrons, plus Fray and her dad, plus Freya, had retired to bed. Fen hadn’t been at the Inn at all since they last saw her in the kitchen in the early afternoon, and Margo had excused herself right after dinner, headed straight for the forge. At the very least Margo had told El where she was going, and soon after she left and El relayed the message, everyone made the unanimous decision to wait. 

How the fuck is anyone supposed to sleep another night?

The silence breaks when a bunny lands on the dining table between Alice and Vic, startling them both. The bunny shuffles on his feet around the room, looking almost bored. “Alice Quinn?” he calls out.

“That’s me.” Alice says. 

When the bunny speaks again, his voice changes dramatically. Whatever he sounds like makes Alice pale. “Alice. Everett’s a God now. He’s headed for Fillory. Be careful, and hurry.”

At the same moment, the door opens, and Fen and Margo stand before everyone, rooted to the spot as the bunny repeats his message twice more before vanishing away. Margo holds the velvet box with the Leo Blade in hand, and she turns to Fen with a worried look and whispers, “We can’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Fen nods and takes Margo’s hand, squeezing it once. “I’m coming with you. I want to help,” Fen says. “I’m trained in combat.”

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Marina says.

Margo glares. “We’re facing a murder-happy God and a paranoid tyrant. If our mortal magic fucks us over, Fen might be our only shot. She’s coming.”

“Fine.” Marina shrugs. “We’ve all got a death wish.”

No one else dissents. There’s really no telling what’s the best strategy when their enemies are warded up the ass. And they’ve got Ember and Umber to find before they have a shot with the only weapon capable of killing the unkillable. All before Everett finds them.

* * *

Using El’s memories as a guide, Penny takes everyone to the edge of the woods in case the border stops them from traveling all the way into the Castle Grounds. They stand behind a canopy of trees, out of sight in case anyone’s watching. The air in front of them is aglow with a substance that nearly fades out of sight in the darkness, but makes the surrounding area feel uncomfortably warm. Kady squints and makes out purple and black glitters forming a web not unlike the wards she’d seen on Earth.

“Fairy magic,” El whispers, lowering himself to study the ward. “But they’re fading. I don’t know what this is. Fairy dust?”

Julia raises her palm and casts a bright beacon, flashing it quickly like a light before snuffing it out, not wanting to draw attention. It’s enough for everyone to see the bonds thinning out between various spells and formulas at the intersections of the dome, almost like the dark sparkles are straining to stay in the bind instead of disappear.

“What if they’re charged every few hours with some kind of battery?” Margo suggests. “Reserved energy? I’ve seen a high security vault set up like this back in Chicago, but the magic’s different. Human magic, not… this.”

Kady doesn’t have time to consider when in the world Margo could have gone close enough to a high security vault to check how the wards were raised, but she raises an eyebrow at her, showing she’s impressed. When Kady had volunteered herself to go after Everett, Margo had immediately jumped on board, which meant the other Questers—El, Quentin, Penny, and Jules—were all up for the same self-destructive side of the mission. But they couldn’t get shit done without some kind of power-up to wield the Blade, so they decided to go after Irene first and hope that the crossfire draws Everett over after Alice and Fen and the others get what they need from the Gods. 

The success of their mission depends entirely on timing, but cellular service doesn’t exist in Fillory, and no one has synchronized watches. So they’re very likely fucked unless someone stalls long enough for everyone to show up at Whitespire in time.

“What if we use a diversion?” Quentin says. “I know it’s tacky, but I-I mean”— he gestures to the ward—“fairy magic? None of us know how to counter that.”

“I can go.” Margo takes out the velvet box. “Irene’s expecting me. The drawbridge is down. She’ll let me walk in.”

“Not alone,” El says. “One of us should come with. I have Harriet’s illusion amulet. I can make myself invisible and follow.”

“Not you,” Margo turns to everyone else. 

Kady’s hand reaches for her own bracelet. She and El had grown accustomed to the weight of it against their wrists, and neither of them had thought to take it off. It had been months since Kady had last activated the charm to go invisible or give herself a different face, but she can recount every sequence of the camouflaging spell in her sleep. “I’ll go with Margo. El, you can try to speak to the Fairy Queen. See what she has to say about Irene’s protection.”

The charm glows as Kady casts the spell to camouflage herself against her backdrop. Everyone else hides away behind the cover of trees, and Kady walks behind Margo and taps her shoulder to let her know she’s here. Margo saunters down the road that leads to the drawbridge, pausing to look at the wards again before she sticks one foot over, bracing herself. 

Kady nearly gasps out loud when the sparkly substance that make up the wards all drop out of the sky, decking the grass with purple and black sparkles. The air drops back to the toe-freezing temperature they’d grown accustomed to, and Kady hurries to cross over the ward after Margo. Nothing happens to her, but she sees her footprints in the layer of snow covering the road and quickly casts a spell to clear her tracks as she continues to walk. 

Winters are a terrible time for stealth missions. Just her luck.

As she turns back to the edge of the woods to check on Penny and the others, sparkles rise back up out of the snow-capped grass, assembling themselves back into the same dome from the ground up. Kady hears Penny curse before he grabs Eliot and Quentin, who grabs Julia. The next second they’re out of sight, hopefully by the Castle. 

Kady hurries up to walk next to Margo. “We’re all in.”

Margo grunts to indicate she’d heard Kady but doesn’t move her mouth. She hasn’t turned back at all while Kady and Penny and the others stumbled their way in before the wards could seal back up, instead keeping her pace steady as she walks on. Kady follows close behind on tip-toes, keeping her footsteps as quiet as possible. 

Mayakovsky had made Kady and Jules train in basic ballet while he watched Penny travel in and out of his study into random faraway corners of the world. The lessons had seemed so stupid at the time, but now Kady’s grateful for the training, all the years they’d spent in the Antarctic learning how to stay alive just because they were drafted into a predestined Quest. Kady had asked for none of the shit that happened in her life, but she’s too tired to be pissed at things she can’t change. Killing the two God-wannabes might give her enough karma to ask for freedom, and her freedom is long,  _ long _ overdue. 

So Kady continues her trek all the way to the gate and whispers to let Margo know she’s still there. Margo holds out the velvet box when she approaches the guards, and the guards part to make way without question. The gate lets out a loud groan as it rises to let Margo pass, and Kady follows, her heart hammering between her ribs hard enough that it hurts.

* * *

The castle is eerily quiet as Kady and Margo climb up the front steps, no guards to be found save for two posted at the main entryway. But as isolated as it looks, Kady can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched. Margo and El had shown everyone a layout of the Castle before Penny traveled them to the woods nearby, and as they make their way to the throne room where Irene will be waiting for her delivery, Margo had stopped and whispered the plan to Kady, keeping her movements as subtle as possible even though no one looks to be standing guard, both of them anticipating things to go to shit at a moment’s notice.

At the intersection, they part ways, and Kady heads down the left side to stand at the archway and wait for Margo to emerge from the right. When Margo rounds the corner, Kady flashes the beacon spell from her palm twice to let Margo know she’s in position. Margo taps her left hand against her thigh twice in response before she walks in, holding the velvet box in front of her. Kady follows Margo in from her side but keeps to the edge of the room—the path leading up to Irene’s throne is lined with a dark red carpet, and any footsteps creasing the fabric would be suspicious.

“I had expected you would be here sooner,” Irene says.

The sound of the High King’s sultry voice makes Kady’s skin crawl. Irene is wearing a black gown with silver embroidery, complete with a black fur-lined cloak. Everything about her is cold down to the platinum blonde of her hair. She rises from her throne as Margo approaches, the layers of her full skirt brushing against the ground. 

Margo stands her ground and doesn’t flinch as Irene scrutinizes her with a hungry look, and holds out the box in front of her. “I would’ve come sooner,” Margo retorts, not hiding the disdain in her voice, “but I was snowed in. You would know if you ever leave the Castle.”

Irene humphs but doesn’t comment. She snatches the box from Margo’s hand and takes a step back. Kady aims straight for Irene’s chest, the blasting spell already warping the air around her wrists as it charges. It’s the perfect position to fire. To disarm Irene, if not to do far worse damage.

The spell soars through the air, missing Margo’s shoulder by an inch. When it collides with its target, Irene’s form disintegrates into a wisp of smoke, and the velvet box falls to the ground, opening to reveal that it’s empty. Margo turns back in panic. A pair of hands close around Kady’s mouth before she can shout out for Margo, and an arm wraps around her torso, pinning her limbs against her side.

Harriet’s illusion fades. The invisible captor’s form flickers into view a second later, but all Kady can see is a pair of arms in the royal guards’ uniform. Kady can’t turn her head around to see her captor’s face, but Margo can, and she stares in Kady’s direction with a look of horror. “Baylor,” Margo mutters. “Shit.”

All around the room, figures emerge where there had been nothing but empty air moments before: two dozen men in uniform stand along the room, their eyes vacant as they face the invaders and point their swords.

“Not yet.” A voice says, sultry and sweet and familiar. “Alive is more valuable than dead.”

The real Irene walks into the throne room, dressed like her counterpart who had vanished. Margo tries to hit her with a spell, but one of the guards lower his sword and raises his right palm. A glowing purple rope wraps itself around Margo, hissing with black steam when it touches her. Margo thrashes against the hold but doesn’t scream.

This is the same type of magic Kady had seen at the wards surrounding the castle grounds. Fairy magic, according to El, but how the fuck did the guards come to possess the same power? Kady had seen a fairy before, and these guards look nothing like Skye. They look human, but their magic is anything but.

Irene stops in front of Margo. The rope is levitating Margo a few inches above ground, bringing them to the same height. “Adorable,” Irene says. She traces down the side of Margo’s chin with a point finger and tuts her tongue. “I’m guessing the real Blade is with your friends, and you two are nothing but a little diversion.”

“The Knifemaker vanished years ago.” Margo seethes. “There is no Leo Blade, and I don’t give a shit about my dad’s orders. I’m here for Eliot.”

Instead of responding, Irene turns to Kady. She studies Kady’s face, and Kady glares back, forcing herself not to blink. But she doesn’t speak. 

Slowly, Irene’s hair turns black, and her features shift until her illusion replicates Kady’s mother’s face. Fuck told Kady Irene’s discipline was something physical, he wasn’t sure what; but not illusions. The magic Irene stole from the land must have boosted her power. 

Irene curls her lips into a smile too cruel to be real. “Margo’s here for her pathetic little friend. And you. I know who you are. You must be here for vengeance.” She looks past Kady at her captor. “Let her go.”

The guard loosens his hold on Kady. Kady staggers forward and immediately turns, charging her hands for another blast.

“Don’t!” Margo shouts. “Kady. They’re Fillorians.”

Fuck.

Eliot hadn’t mentioned anything about the dozens of uniformed guards standing around the palace because they hadn’t been here when he was still Irene’s prisoner. They must be part of Irene’s new protection to defend herself against her enemies. But before they became Irene’s pawns, they fought against her. 

They were the missing men who stormed the Castle each year, hoping to throw down a tyrant. But now they obey the King without question like they had lost the part of themselves that cared. Now they bind Kady’s and Margo’s hands behind their backs and force them away from the throne room, down the endless spiraling steps, and into the dungeons, fully aware that neither of the intruders are willing to fight back.

“They’re missing their Shade,” Margo tells Kady once they’re at the bottom. “Shit.”

One guard shoves Margo forward through the open doorway at the bottom of the spiraling stairs, and Kady’s captor does the same. They stand by a row of cells, most of which are empty except for the cell at the end where a cloaked figure is sitting cross-legged by the corner of the wall, looking down at the ground.

As the Fillorian pawns force Kady and Margo into a cell and lock them in, the lone prisoner lifts their head and pulls off the hood of their charcoal gray cloak. Kady frowns as the woman reveals her face, but Margo goes silent. Kady looks at Margo again, then back at the other prisoner, and notices the resemblance between them.

“Margo,” the woman says, her voice raspy and full of shock.

“ _ Mom _ ?”

* * *

The woman—Mira—steps closer to Kady and Margo, closing the distance. There’s an empty cell between hers and theirs, but Kady gets a good look. The resemblance between mother and daughter is uncanny, though Mira’s hair is a wild tangle of curls, and her cheeks look like they had once been kissed by the sun, the brown freckles fading from fuck knows how long she’d spent imprisoned underground. Mira looks past Kady’s shoulders at Margo, lips parted without uttering a word. Kady turns back to see Margo gape and swallow hard like she’s seeing a ghost.

“ _ Explain _ .” Margo crosses her arms.

“I had hoped to find you myself,” Mira begins slowly, her voice shaky with disuse. She pulls her lips into a tight smile. “After I took them out. After I got the Blade. ”

“Did you come here to look for Silentspell?” Kady asks.

“That’s what I had hoped. But the spell held, as I suspected. Irene’s guards found me wandering in the woods.”

Mira gives a one-shouldered shrug. Margo hasn’t moved from where she’s standing, but Kady crosses her legs and sits by the bars of the cell. They’re not going to come up with an escape plan with the half-dozen guards watching the only exit like the magical, possessed marionettes that they are, and the last thing Kady expected was to find Mira in this Castle. Samira Advani, who used to be nothing but a tragic backstory told by El. 

“How long,” Margo says, “have you been here?”

“It’s difficult to tell without the sun. Margo, I—you’ve grown so much. The illustrations don’t compare. I looked at all of them, I did, whenever your book updated itself. I couldn’t bring myself to see you. To scry on you.”

“So you read about me in my book”

El must have told Margo that. Of all of them set out to kill the would-be Gods tonight, he was the only one who’d spoken to Margo’s mother, and even then he hadn’t learned much, only the part that confirmed how Kady’s mom had died. He hadn’t had the heart to ask. But now that Kady sees her, she forgets the questions that had been on her mind for years. They don’t seem so important now, not when Kady’s here to finish off the last tether she has to her past so she can get over herself and move the fuck on entirely.

“I looked once through a magnifying glass in Zelda’s office. I saw you with Alice Quinn—you were at her house with a man and a woman, and the woman, she was a psychic. Something made you worried, something you heard. You talked to the woman, and she looked inside your mind, or your memories, or...” Mira trails off.

“It was the song. The one that played on TV the night you left. Do you remember?”

Margo’s last question comes out forceful. She hides a wince, but Kady notices. Instead of taking it back, she stares ahead, walking closer so she’s standing next to Kady, hands gripping the bars of their cell. Kady takes this moment to examine the metal that traps them in. The bars are not magic in nature, but the metal, whatever it is, acts as a repellent or neutralizer. Either way the dungeon prisons are secured by an element that’s unaffected by magic. So much for warping their way out.

Instead of responding, Mira hums a tune that makes Kady’s breath hitch. Kady fills in the lyrics from memory, a song that she once thought she knew, but hadn’t a clue what it meant until El gave her the whole truth. 

_ Will you recognize me? _

_ Call my name or walk on by _

_ Rain keeps falling, rain keeps falling _

_ Down, down, down, down _

“I sent you the tetraglass orb not long after I saw you. There were a few memories I stored inside. One of them was that night.”

Margo breathes, pinches the bars tight, and doesn’t look away. “I knew it was you.”

“I was a fool. I told myself it would be enough to keep your mind off me. But I read your book a few weeks later and ”

“How far did you read before you came?”

“Up until you lost the Compass—when Everett confronted you—and Charlie lost his life.”

“Those weren’t the only thing I’d lost,” Margo says. In her voice, Kady picks up something else: hint of a wish that Margo is ashamed to admit, hence why she keeps it to herself.  _ You should have come sooner. You should have come  _ back _. _

“My intention was to finish them off before you could plan your heist. I thought the Blade might have been finished by then. Finding you on Earth would have drawn Everett’s attention to me—to you.”

“Everything I did was because I wanted to know where you were.”

Mira leans close against the bars on her cell, pressing her cheek into the metal. “Do you blame me for what happened?”

“No,” Margo says quickly. “No. I don’t. I spent years being pissed at myself for going through with the heist. I wanted answers, but it made shit so much worse.”

“I’m sorry, Margo,” Mira says.

“It’s not your fault.”

Mira inclines her head. “I’m still sorry. I wish there was a better way.”

To Kady’s surprise, Margo turns to look at her instead of her mother. She tilts her head, raises an eyebrow in question, but Kady shrugs. She’d spent years wondering what the fuck she’d say to Mira if she ever saw her, but she never came up with an answer. And now that Mira’s here… What’s done is done. Who gives a fuck?

“I’m not the only one who wants answers from you, mom,” Margo says. Her voice strains at the last word, but Kady doesn’t miss the smile lingering at the corners of her mouth that vanishes as soon as Margo sees Kady watching.

Mira looks at Kady, one hand twirling a strand of her hair, coiling and uncoiling before finally letting go. “You want to know about Hannah?”

Kady purses her lips and resigns herself to the fact that she, in fact, does give a fuck. Nothing can change the past, but she’d come to Fillory on El’s Quest hoping to find truths of her own. She looks at Mira, who had backed away from the bars of her cell to stand up straight, holding herself with the same dignity Kady had picked up from Margo on the very day she saw her at the Inn. Being locked up in a dungeon hasn’t washed the sophistication out of her. Everything about Mira speaks of someone from a different world that Kady grew up in.

“The White Lady told me you loved my mom,” Kady starts, meeting Mira’s eyes. “How long ago did this happen? How did you even know her?”

The mention of Hannah brings a nostalgic look on Mira’s face. Her voice is soft when she speaks despite the sad look in her eyes. “Hannah and I were trained to fight against each other. Irene was my mentor; Everett was hers.”

Kady scowls. “What?”

“Hannah was raised as a hedge witch. That much, you may already know.” As Kady nods, Mira continues, “A group of young women on the streets took Hannah in as part of their pack after her mother’s death when she was a young girl. Hannah had the gift like they did. Back when we were growing up, things were different. Magic was an open secret, but it was everywhere for those who knew where to look. Things started changing after Everett came back down to Earth to find his victims, after Hannah. 

“But before all that, distinguished magicians would make a reputation for themselves with their research. There were schools that provided plenty of opportunities for magicians to perfect their abilities, but the selection process was biased against people with no families to back them up, whose powers happened by chance, who practiced without strict guidance. So the hedge witches made their living by manipulating their gifts as they see fit, trying to fend for themselves in a world they don’t feel welcome in. Some of them were more daring; Hannah and her sisters—that’s what she called them—they trained their powers to an incredible degree. Because of that, they decided to rob a bank. Only, they didn’t know the high-security banks around cities had a magical line of defense beyond what’s on the surface.”

Mira looks at Margo, who stays still, slowly turning away her own gaze. Kady had been debriefed with the short version of what happened with Margo and Alice’s heist, only the details El felt comfortable revealing. They had bypassed magical security on top of everything else. They had wanted the Compass for themselves to search for Mira. The break-in drew Everett’s attention to them. It was unfortunate how it ended, but the heist itself had been impressive.

“They nearly got caught, but they’d fought hard enough to get away. The evidence they left behind wouldn’t have been enough to arrest them. Everett had been working at the bank as a manager, trying to collect the information of all the families that opened a vault there—I believe he might have been looking for magical families in case they tried to store a powerful artifact he could use. So the day of the robbery, Everett had something on the hedge witches from that day that could all get them in prison, but he used it to blackmail Hannah. If she came to study under his tutelage, he would let her sisters go free. Hannah sacrificed herself, thinking her only punishment was sophisticated training from a powerful magician with questionable morals. It wasn’t until he asked her to steal from the Library that she found out the truth.”

“The Library?” Kady asks. “As in the Neitherlands?”

“Yes. The Neitherlands. Everett had been banished from there by the Head Librarian, Zelda. Hannah found a way in. She was tasked with stealing an artifact fashioned by a God. The same Compass we were all desperate to find.”

“Umber made it?”

“He did. He was a meticulous God, much more so than his brother. He left it in the Neitherlands because he knew it was the only place Everett can’t go. So Everett wanted Hannah to retrieve it for him, only Zelda caught her in the act. Zelda showed her Everett’s book. Everett used to own the Library when she was his student. He wanted to train her and watch her grow stronger, and eventually steal her magical core for his own use, but she’d found out, and she’d banished him. 

“Harriet had been born a few years before Everett became her mentor. Zelda wanted her daughter to be safe, but the banishment came at a price. To banish one human, she needed to give up her memories of the one she loves most. She couldn’t remember again unless Everett is dead. So after Harriet grew up with the mother who no longer recognized her, she left. Made a life of her own down on Earth.

“Everett never gave much thought to children. To you, Kady,” Mira says, “and Harriet. He chose Zelda for the same reason he chose Hannah—they were hedge witches without living parents. People the world wouldn’t miss.” Her voice shakes at the last words. “He was wrong.”

Kady can’t find it in herself to be angry at Everett anymore. All of that had burned out of her years ago, leaving her with the bitter aftertaste of the rest of her childhood: memories of countless nights she’d spent laying in a too-small bed, Marina holding her tight while they tried to sleep, tried to ignore the sound of screaming and glass breaking in the next room. The world may not have missed her mother, but the world didn’t give a fuck about children like Kady. It took years for Kady to learn to give a fuck about herself.

“So what did my mom do after?” Kady asks. Her voice is quiet enough that Mira has to strain, but she doesn’t dare speak louder. If she’s going to cry over her mom again, it’s not going to be here, now.

“Hannah stayed in the Neitherlands under Zelda’s protection.” Mira gives Kady a look that says she knows, and the pity stings. “At the same time, Irene had chosen me as her protegée. Your father,” Mira says to Margo, “was also considered. Ultimately, I was picked.”

“I’m guessing she was a family friend?” Margo asks.

“One of my family’s first connections when we moved to Massachusetts,” Mira confirms. “Raymond—your father—his family was the closest. Three houses down from ours. After we knew the Hansons, we got to meet everyone else. It all spiraled from there until I grew up—until Irene became my mentor, and my family moved back to Medina. So Irene taught me the spells and the wards and everything else, but her real obsession was magical energy. I spent hours untangling ropes and harvesting residual powers from all the objects she had in store. She said I would have to fight her enemy, someone who’s trying to steal all the power she had. And she taught me to scry. That’s how I found Hannah.”

“She wanted you to learn her weakness,” Kady says.

“I watched her cast the most incredible spells under Zelda’s watch. Her discipline was battle magic, but her power was always protective. I wasn’t aware she’d been reading about me—but she had read my name in Everett’s book, how he was training her to fight me before he planned to take her core for himself. My life must have intrigued her; she’d told me she read about my childhood, a few chapters, before she felt bad for prying and put it back down. 

“We met up on Earth after she caught me scrying on her one day and wrote me a message. Somewhere Everett that wouldn’t think to go—Hannah picked the place based on what was in Everett’s book. We were in Boston. It was raining hard that day, so hard that we had to run into a motel for shelter. We stayed there all night. Our song played in the jukebox downstairs, on and on. We couldn’t ignore it no matter what. 

“We met up a few more times. At first it was fun, casual, but I realized I was falling for her, and if Irene found out, she’d come after us. And Hannah said, what we sneak into Irene’s house and steal some batteries? It would be helpful if she had an army of hired hitmen trying to take us out—the energy would have helped with her shields. I wanted to go alone, but Hannah wouldn’t have it.

“I went back to Irene’s, pretending everything was fine. I studied with her for a few more weeks until the day I knew she’d be out, and the house would be empty. But that day, after Hannah snuck in, we had a visitor. A man named Henry Fogg.”

“I know who he is,” Kady says. El and Q studied magic from him when she and Jules and Penny were stuck in Antarctica, but for a year before that, she’d studied alongside El in his little old book shop. Fogg seemed like a guy with lots of secrets.

“He gave us a Key. Said it would reveal the truth to us. And I saw fairies standing around as soon as I touched it. Dozens of them. Skye was the first to speak, and she told us about the deal the former Queen had made with Irene’s family. We promised we’d free them, but we never got the chance. Stealing the battery hadn’t been difficult, but that was my mistake: Irene wasn’t the only one I should have worried about.”

“Was it  _ him _ ?” Margo asks. Kady recognizes the loathing in her voice, the same way El used to speak about Irene, and Mira’s look of fear confirms Kady’s suspicions on who he is.

“Raymond broke us in the end. He found Hannah on her way back to the Neitherlands—she was trying to research ways to break the collars keeping the fairies tethered to this deal for centuries. And I went to Raymond for help—I was so stupid—I went to his house, thinking his family might have something that could work for a deal like this. An artifact. I didn’t know he was jealous of me and Hannah. I’d kept this a secret, I thought, but he must have found out. He pulled out the memories I had of your mother.”

“So that’s why she spent years searching,” Kady says. “She was trying to remember.”

“He was so good at covering his tracks, but things slipped through. The song. It took years for things to come back to us. So when Ray told me he was moving to L.A., days after he made me forget about Hannah, I said I’d go with him. My family had left, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back to Saudi Arabia, not yet. And I knew I didn’t want to return to Irene, but I couldn’t figure out why.”

“You thought you’d married your best friend,” Margo says, keeping her voice as contained as Kady has been.

“Hannah and I said we’d come back to find you both,” Mira tells them. “We had everything planned out—Margo and I could move in to Hannah’s house, far away from L.A. Then we could find ways to deal with Raymond, once we’re safe. It sounded so good at the time before everything fell to shit.”

“I know how she died,” Kady says. “El told me what he knew, and I’ve spoken with the White Lady. And I—I mean, not now.”

“Oh. I—okay,” Mira says, sounding. Kady lets out a deep breath, too, feeling the tension around her chest ease up.

Margo shuffles her feet, then looks around at the cells again, then glances back at her boots. “We can catch up after.” Margo peers at the opening, where the six guards stand on watch. Then she looks at her mom and Kady, and raises an eyebrow.

Before either of them can offer any suggestions, Kady hears a loud fizzle. A pink ball of lightning soars through the air from the opening of the dungeons, and the guards turn to look. They don’t have time to turn back and shield themselves before Penny appears and lifts his arms up like a conductor at an orchestra, summoning countless violet spears that pin them against the wall by the legs of their pants and the sleeves of their uniforms. Any spells they attempt are immediately diminished when Julia joins Penny down the steps, swiping her hands with the most inappropriate beam on her face given the situation, all smug and incredulous and  _ holy shit I’m in Fillory _ -esque.

Kady rolls her eyes.

“So.” Julia saunters in, takes a look at Mira, and tuts her tongue in understanding. “Neutralizing metal?”

“I can’t cast anything to break myself out or through the gaps,” Mira says, edging close to the opening. “My spells only affect what’s in my cell. They never let me have anything sharp.”

Margo lowers herself and pulls something out of the shaft of her boot. A dagger with a bejeweled sheath. One of the guards tries to shout something, but Penny catches him in time and sends another spell that shuts him up. “Fen’s right. This  _ is _ a good precaution. Anyone know how to pick a lock?”

Penny reaches for it, but Kady snatches it from Margo before he can take it, and gives her partner a teasing look. She unsheathes the dagger tries to reach out slowly, and sure enough, nothing bad happens when she sticks her hand outside the bar and crooks her elbow to get the tip of the blade into the lock. It takes her a few tries to edge all the pins into place, but finally, the door clicks. Kady pulls her arm back and hands the blade back to Margo, who gives her an impressed look.

Kady breaks Mira out of her cell, and all of them head up the spiraling stairs, only turning once to release the guards and raise a wall that barricades them down in the dungeons where they’ll be safe for the time being. Mira and Penny take the lead, and Jules gives Kady a knowing look before hurrying to join them, giving Kady and Margo the time they need. They stay a few steps behind the others and turn at the same time. 

“I—”

“We—”

“You first,” Kady says.

“We could’ve been sisters. What the fuck.”

Margo continues to walk but doesn’t turn her gaze away. She looks as weirded out by the prospect as Kady feels. They had grown up in different worlds, but they had been fucked over by the same enemies. That, in itself, makes Kady curious instead of bitter like she’d expected to be. And Margo had been so good to El, against everything Kady would have expected from a girl who, Kady once believed, was raised to get whatever she wants.

The possibility of growing up with Margo and Mira instead of losing her own mom reminds Kady of what she used to do. As a small girl, before Marina was forced out of her life and Harriet found her way in, Kady used to make up a whole other life where her mom never left. That Kady had been much happier, and she is a stranger. A ghost. That Kady has never been real. But Margo is.

“Shit, I know,” Kady tells her, not hiding her smirk. “We would have hated each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I had a whole subplot dedicated to Mira and Hannah’s story and was seriously plotting a third-person omniscient perspective interlude of four chapters to lay it all out. I may or may not have run out of time and decided to infodump in various sections of the other character arcs instead, but I have FEELS. I have STORIES. I have PAIN. Ask me things if you wish to know.


	26. Part Fifteen: Alice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alice helps Fen find the Gods. Supportive conversation ensues.

**Three Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

The ride to the mountains takes an hour on horseback with Gallop’s speed, and Alice finds herself growing more antsy as she counts down the seconds, wondering how long the others must have been waiting for the Blade. There was no way for Vic to transport them all, as the Compass refuses to budge unless it’s certain they’re traveling along, waiting for the pointer to guide their every twist and turn. Vic’s only option is to wait until Alice and Fen had finished searching before trying to find them, using nothing but memories of Alice as a guide.

Fen rides in front of Alice and runs her thumb along the reins without speaking, turning left and right as they ride along the forest path in case anyone’s following them. Alice keeps her eyes on the Compass, mindful of the Key glowing against her chest that tells her Fen is worried about Margo and the others at Whitespire, fully armed with everything but the weapon that will provide the necessary destruction for the enemies in question. Nothing she can’t already guess.

Alice’s only consolation is that the Compass doesn’t change directions halfway. Soon enough, they’re at the foot of the smallest hill, looking at the trail that winds around the mountain until it reaches the top. They dismount from horseback and peer up, trying to gauge how much longer they have to climb.

“We shouldn’t be too far now,” Alice tells Fen, patting Gallop firmly on the neck in gratitude. “If the hideout is in one of the caves, we can walk the rest of the way.”

“If you find yourself in need of assistance,” Gallop says, nodding his head, “I will stay close and lurk in the shadows among the trees, in case anyone comes searching.”

As they climb, the path around them begins to shift. They find themselves in strange corners of unrecognizable terrain, sometimes trekking down a path between two plateaus of the hill that hadn’t existed moments ago, and other times facing a view of cottages instead of the surrounding woods. The entire landscape is one impossible maze full of illusions, and Fen spins around in a daze while Alice turns the Compass various ways to make sure it’s not broken. Alice curses each time they come across another roadblock, hoping Vic and Marina will be able to locate them after they’ve finished searching.

“They’ll be okay, I’m sure,” Alice says, wishing she believes her own words. She gives up trying to swish the Compass around and tells herself to just follow. “They’re the best magicians I know. And Margo won’t let anything happen on her watch.”

“It’s Margo I’m worried about. Not the others.”

Alice chuckles. It’s endearing to hear her thoughts echoed in someone else who had come to care for Margo in the short time that she got to know her. The little girl at the Inn, Fray, had informed Alice of her sister’s crush on the “kind stranger” not long after she’d spoken to Margo and made peace with that part of their past. And while most people might worry about Fen getting her heart broken by a guest who never intended to stay in her life, Alice knows Margo bonds quicker than she cares to admit, and once she does, nothing will dissuade her from caring. Margo’s heart had almost destroyed her in the past, but it didn’t. And maybe this time it will be the thing that saves them.

“Then we’ll find the Gods,” Alice assures Fen, “and we’ll help her before she tries to sacrifice herself for all of us.”

Fen nods. They continue walking in silence as the Compass steers them this way and that, stumbling once over a branch in the middle of the ground that shot out of nowhere, and twice nearly walking face-first into a wall that suddenly emerged in their path. 

When they reach the opening of a cave, and the Compass tells them to go in, Fen stops at the mouth and turns to Alice. Fen hesitates, her hand reaching for the orb around her neck on instinct. Alice had noticed it earlier on their ride but didn’t comment. 

"Do you still love her?" Fen asks.

Fen looks away immediately and lets go of the orb. She opens her mouth again, perhaps to apologize, or to say _you don’t have to answer_ , but Alice shakes her head before Fen can take back her question. Alice hears hope in Fen’s voice and knows Fen is serious about how she feels, so much that she wants to make sure she has a chance before she falls for Margo all the way.

"I loved her once," Alice admits. "And I will always care. But we agreed to be friends."

For all Alice knows, they’re walking into a trap. Everett is on the hunt for his enemies, and Alice has no doubt she and her friends would be top of the list. But the smile blooming across Fen’s face is enough to make Alice a little less scared, and she smiles back.

“Okay,” Fen says.

“And in case we don’t make it back by sunrise,” Alice adds, “this Compass might help you find her. If you wish.”

“Thank you.”

They walk into the cave together. It’s a shallow cave with what looks like a tree stump halfway up the incline in front of them. On the surface over the top, there’s a shape for a handprint carved into the wood with no sign of being touched.

Fenpeers at the face of the Compass in Alice’s hand. “Hey, where did the pointer go?”

Sure enough, the pointer had vanished.

“This must be it,” Alice decides. “I don’t know what we do with the Key. But you can try.” She looks at the handprint. “Maybe it needs a Fillorian.”

Fen places her hand inside and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Nothing shifts around, and no secret door opens up, but when Fen lifts her hand, she sees a keyhole in the stump. Alice inserts the key and turns. The ground rumbles beneath their feet before the stump sinks, drilling into the ground, leaving spiraling stairs in its place.

Fen takes a deep breath. “Guess we go down.”

* * *

The chamber underground is dimly lit and mostly empty save for a tomb at the very end, placed on a raised platform surrounded by ceremonial string instruments Alice can’t name. Alice treads closer and perks her ears, listening for any sound of intruders. Fen frowns at the tomb with a foreboding look, but before she can voice her concern, the tomb in question opens up. The door falls off the side, hitting the ground with a clatter.

They jump as a ram-like figure stands up from inside the stone coffin. He lets out a high-pitched giggle as he raises his head up high. “At last!” he calls, raising his arms high above his head in celebration. Alice see hooves instead of hands. “You’ve come to set me free!”

Fen gasps before she kneels, lowering her head. “Ember.”

Oh.

Alice copies her gesture but doesn’t lower her gaze. She studies Ember’s face as he steps out from his tomb and peers at his visitors. He doesn’t look remotely like any God Alice would have imagined, but she had expected someone with a human form. Someone serious.

“We need your help,” Alice says.

To her surprise, Ember groans and rolls his eyes. “All you little fellas ever do is ask for me to clean up your mortal business. _Help me, Ember. Help me, I’m dying_ ,” he mocks, his voice sing-song and high-pitched. 

Ember crosses one arms over his chest as if mortally wounded, then cackles again. He sits down at the edge of the raised platform in front of his tomb and crosses his legs. Alice and Fen stand up and exchange a confused look. _Where’s Umber?_ Alice mouths, and Fen shrugs.

Fen composes her expression and smoothes off her dress before speaking again. “Your Honor—Your Highness? Umm. Your Godliness! Yes. We’ve got the Leo Blade.” Fen takes out the box from inside her cloak and opens it. “But, could we, I mean, we would like to wield it in battle. Is there anything you can give us that’s… God-charged?”

Ember peers forward at the moonstone blade and yelps, staggering back. “Why ever would you need such a murderous weapon?”

“It’s for Everett,” Alice says. “I believe you’ve heard of him. He has risen to full God-power. This Blade is our last chance.”

Alice winces at her bluntness but swallows back any hint of apology. Margo and the others’ lives are at stake, and Ember would have had them beat around the bush for hours with the way he speaks. 

“You’ve come to expose my hideout when he’s still out there?” Panic rises in Ember’s voice. “Have you no idea how easy it would be for him to find me like this?” 

Fen opens her mouth and closes it again. Something falters in Fen’s gaze as she looks at the God, a disappointment Alice once sees in herself. Alice had spent two years in Modesto trying to recover the hope in magic that she’d given up on, and even now she holds her reserves on the Leo Blade rumored to be the only weapon capable of destroying Everett. Because magic fucks with mortal lives in ways Alice can’t begin to predict, and who knows what the cost of wielding the Blade would be?

But Fen? Fen had spent years helping the Kingdom in Ember and Umber’s name, believing that the Kingdom would be restored to its former glory once the Gods have been found. And here Ember is, sleeping away in his tomb while the rest of his world goes to shit like a coward, safe in the doomsday bunker he’d built for himself when everyone else is forced to deal with a tyrant King and a dying Kingdom.

“Then help us,” Alice says, stepping forward. Ember glares back at her, and their eyes meet, and she feels her hands clutch into twists and doesn’t cower. “Give us something so we can take Everett down. That way you—and Umber—don’t have to hide anymore. Please.”

“ _Don’t_.” Ember is seething. He steps down until he’s right in front of Alice, and he lowers his head, and he nudges her hard on the shoulder with his hoof. “Speak to me about Umber.”

“What happened to Umber?”

Something has changed in Fen’s voice when she speaks again. Gone is the tone of respect she’d used when she first came face to face with her God. Now she clutches the velvet box in her hands with a death grip and holds it close.

Ember scoffs. “Haven’t either of you wondered why a God of Fillory would place one of these precious artifacts”—he gestures to the Compass in Alice’s hand and the Key around her neck—“on Earth? That little mudball born by accident during Creation because our parents got carried away with all the perfect worlds they were trying to build?”

When neither of them speaks, Ember continues, “This tomb was built for both of us. We had a deal! An agreement! We created this place together, and we’d stay in the same little patch of a planet until things blow over with this _Everett_ ,” he spits out the t’s, “and that High King of yours. But Umber—always the cocky one, always thinks he’s so much better because he was such a tight-ass—Umber departed this world fourteen years ago and made a new home in some deep, dark, rotten corner on Earth, never mind the Quest! Never mind our deal!”

“He abandoned us?” Fen asks.

“I’d always known he’d tire of this place. All the whimsy and wonder and the—the animals! The talking animals, that was my idea, that was part of our Plan from the beginning! A compromise! But he’s always been a stickler for rules. _Animals aren’t meant to speak unless they’re one of those humans, Ember._ And on and on and on. I suppose he’d run out and decided to build himself a new planet. Somewhere boring and proper.”

“And you,” Fen continues, “you’ve decided to stay? To fix our Kingdom once this is over?”

“Our Kingdom, you say.” The expression in Ember’s face twists into a sneer. “You say this as if I’m not capable of making another! I’m quite fond of this little Kingdom. But who knows—in another century I may tire of it like my dear departed brother. I’ll take my work elsewhere. Make some new talking animals who appreciate my efforts.”

“The Blade,” Alice cuts in. Fen gives her a grateful look. “Please, just tell us what we need. Do you need to cast a spell on one of us? Or—or some kind of ritual?”

Ember lets out a long, exasperated sigh. “All you need is a tiny smidge of my powers, yes? I’ll give you a little vial of my tears. Drink it, or whatever it is you need to do.”

Something drops on the ground with a loud _thud_ behind Alice and Fen before they can receive any of said vials. Ember’s expression shifts from annoyed to terrified as he looks. They jolt and turn at the same time, and come to face with none other than Everett himself.

* * *

Before Alice can utter a sound, Everett raises his palm and sends her and Fen soaring across the room. They hit the wall, and his magic pins them against it, the restraint gripping every inch of Alice’s body including her hands, making it impossible for her to cast a spell and try to wriggle Fen or herself free. The velvet box that holds the Leo Blade drops underneath Fen’s feet, lying open and vulnerable.

Ember makes a beeline for the spiraling stairs that lead up to the cave, but Everett cocks his head, and a brick wall solidifies in a matter of seconds, closes the opening, trapping them all in. He looks as he did the last time Alice saw him, only the dark circles under his eyes have vanished, making him look less mousy and more dangerous.

“So kind of you to bring your God to me,” Everett says to Fen. 

Everett lifts up a finger and twirls, and Alice feels the Compass being torn away from her grip and into Everett’s hand. He waves it once tauntingly and turns back to Ember, who’s ramming his shoulder into the wall to try and break it down. No luck. 

“I spoke to your brother, you know,” Everett says. “Moments before I watched the life snuff out of him. Tell me—which one of you is stronger?”

“You found my brother?”

Alice watches Fen pale from the corner of her eye, her neck straining when she tries to turn her head. Fen struggles harder against her restraints and sniffles. Everett doesn’t pay them any mind.

“Hiding away on Earth like a coward. And do you know—before I made my final hit, Umber called for you. He called your name.”

Ember sneers. He’s nothing like a God Alice would have imagined, but in this moment, as he opens his mouth, desperate to get in one last word, he looks almost human. “He was always the weak one.”

Everett gives him a thoughtful look. “You want to bet?”

Ember lets out a shriek at the same time Fen does. He collides against the wall one last time, and the bricks fall apart and tumble into the stairwell. But before he can hop over and run off and save himself, Everett lifts one arm, and Ember dangles a few inches above ground, choking for air. Everett throws Ember against the wall by Alice’s side with enough force that the very foundation of the underground lair rattles like they’re caught in an earthquake. 

Everett conjures a spear and stabs it through Ember’s chest. Splatters of blood sprout out, some droplets sticking to Alice’s skin or soaking into her coat. And all Alice can think, as her stomach churns at the sight of Ember’s corpse, is that she didn’t know Gods could bleed.

A large fireball soars from the opening of the stairwell. It clashes against Everett and doesn’t burn, but it’s enough of a distraction that he turns. His restraints continue to hold, but Alice feels the fabric of his energy wavering just enough for her to break through. She tears away the hold of his powers with her own counter-spell, feeling her hands burn. Alice frees Fen with the same spell and grabs the velvet box with the Leo Blade inside, and they duck behind Ember’s tomb, narrowly avoiding another hit. 

Vic and Marina land in front of them, holding each other’s hands. There’s a smirk of triumph written all over Marina’s face, and Vic is panting, trying to catch her breath as beads of sweat runs down her neck. They crouch and grab Fen and Alice by the fabric of their clothes. As Everett pulls the tomb aside, exposing them all for his next hit, Vic closes her eyes and concentrates, and travels them all away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO ELSE IS HERE FOR KIND, POWERFUL WOMEN SUPPORTING AND RESPECTING EACH OTHER?


	27. Part Sixteen: Eliot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot marches into battle. This time, he is not alone.

**Three Days Before Midwinter's Eve**

Eliot stands at the same fountain where he once told Margo his secret as a child, the one with two thorny rose vines climbing up toward the sky in spirals wrapped around one another, shielding the beam of light in the center that never dims. Quentin’s jaw drops in awe, but he doesn’t speak, only squeezes Eliot’s hand once. It’s unnerving for Eliot to be back here, to see that nothing’s changed as if he’d gone back in time.

“Fuck,” Eliot mutters and closes his eyes. This is going to be one awkward conversation, but at least Q is here as moral support while Jules and Penny sneak their way inside. “Umm, Fairy Queen? Are you there? It’s Eliot—you don’t know who the fuck that is. Okay. No. The Lost Prince? Does that ring a bell?”

He opens his eyes but sees only Quentin, who’s cringing.

“I have come to seek audience with the Fairy Queen, per the White Lady’s instructions,” he tries again, raising his voice as much as he dares.

The Fairy Queen appears dressed in all white, standing atop the lawn currently dusted in snow like one of the garden statues. It takes a second for Eliot’s eyes to adjust. Quentin gasps—the Fairy Queen must have made herself visible to them both. 

Eliot bows his head, and Quentin does the same.

“I have watched you grow from the safety of my realm,” the Fairy Queen says. Her voice isn’t loud, but it’s compelling, and Eliot finds himself looking at her with an unwavering gaze. “I know who you are. What is it that you seek?”

“A way to kill Irene McAllister. The White Lady told me you’d have the answer.”

“And what makes you certain,” the Fairy Queen says, “that the High King is currently invulnerable, if she has not yet acquired the powers of a God?”

Quentin gives Eliot a _she-has-a-point_ shrug. Eliot has to admit he hadn’t thought of the possibility that he’s overestimating Irene, but it’s the most plausible answer to _why the fuck hasn’t she been assassinated_ , so he hasn’t questioned his assumption. 

“I think,” Eliot tells her, “that if there’s a way to rid the Kingdom of the High King, someone would have done it by now. But all I hear is people vanishing when they try to raid the Castle like she has some kind of protection in place.”

“You believe she had secured a second deal with the fairies?”

“Is that even possible?” Quentin asks.

“It is. But she did not. It would have been foolish to find protection from the same beings that her family has enslaved for centuries. And the High King is many things, but she is no fool.”

Eliot thinks about Skye, whispering secrets about the artifacts that can set Eliot and his friends free in Manhattan when he was eighteen. She had risked everything to sneak out of the McAllister’s estate, desperate not to get caught. And the loss of her leg doesn’t look like an accident. “I never did ask,” Eliot starts, hoping he doesn’t come across as insensitive, “how the McAllister’s managed to secure the fairies to do their bidding.”

The Queen ponders it, but doesn’t look angry. Quentin’s hand tightens around Eliot’s. “It was a deal that my grandmother made centuries ago. A sacrifice made by those of us willing to work for the humans so the rest of us can be free, to be leashed under collars that suppress our abilities so they could not fight back. Fairies used to live in many worlds, including yours. But in time we fled and created our colony here. A dozen of us reside in the Castle as we speak. The rest are in the King’s family’s estate on Earth.”

Eliot looks at the Castle with all the lights out from its windows except for the first floor. The throne room is lit. He imagines Irene sitting on her throne, waiting. “Is there no way to break the deal?” Eliot asks.

“Fairies always honor their deals. It is the foundation of our culture.”

“Cultures change. For better, or worse.”

The Queen looks at him in intrigue. “Is that what you believe?”

“I believe it would be worth the risk. Especially now. Especially when there’s a chance for my friends and I to defeat the King and her rival.”

“And you would rise to the throne to take the place as High King?”

The thought makes Eliot flinch. “I ran away eight years ago. I think that disqualifies me?”

“If you were the one to cast the final spell, the one to overthrow the High King, you would be the next candidate.”

Fuck.

“And if I don’t want it?”

To his surprise, the Queen smiles at him. “Then I can make you a deal. I can break the spell that enslaved my people to the family of the High King, but in return, no Child of Earth can ever claim the seat of the High King in the Kingdom of Fillory. The power will be returned to the rightful citizens of this land.”

“You sure Ember and Umber won’t put up a fight?”

Her face falls. “The Gods have been killed. One only just.”

Fuck. Everett must have found them.

“Eliot Waugh.” The Queen brings her hand forward, sensing the urgency. “On behalf of the Children of Earth, do we have a deal?”

Eliot shakes her hand without question. The Kingdom had never been his, and it should never have been. When they finish sealing the deal, the Queen traces a symbol of a rune on her left palm with her right finger, hard enough to draw blood. She blows the snow off the rim of the fountain with a simple spell and places her palm over the marble surface, imprinting the rune into the hard stone.

“It is done.”

“And the King?” Quentin asks. “We can defeat her?”

The Queen nods. “More easily than you think.”

* * *

There is no one standing guard at the front entryway, but Eliot hears the sound of spells colliding and glass shattering, and hurries, still holding Quentin’s hand.

They run into the throne room into a shitstorm of duels. Margo and Kady are locked in battle with a dozen guards, and Jules and Penny are holding their own likewise. The guards are using magic as well as their swords, but their spells are accompanied by purple and black dust sparkling in the air. Their magic, whatever they are, isn’t quite human. And Eliot doesn’t remember seeing these guards before—they must be part of Irene’s new protection—and as one turns to Eliot, he notices how vacant their eyes look.

But there’s no time to process all of that. Quentin is already dodging three spells that the guards tossed his way, and Eliot counters one headed for him, whipping his head around to see who else is here. He startles when he sees Mira in the same room, trying to break through the barrage of guards to reach her daughter. She must have been locked up here. Maybe she was the whole reason Margo’s father asked her to get the Blade. Irene’s end of the bargain.

The thought makes Eliot sick.

He finds Irene pinned against her throne with no less than a dozen fairies holding her in place, all of them free of the golden collars that once hung around their necks. It appears the Fairy Queen’s new deal had been sealed in time. But before he can rejoice, before he can unleash the beast under his skin, Everett appears in the center of the room. With one wave of his arm, all of the guards freeze in motion, and everyone locked in battle—Penny, Jules, Margo, Kady—free themselves and rush over, each of them ready to fire.

The magic pulses out from Everett in domes that expand outward, multiple layers following one another, colliding with the spells and their casters, forcing everyone against the wall. Eliot, Kady, Mira, and Alice swoop in in time. Wind shatters the overarching window and glass shards blow into the throne room overhead. Julia disperses them with a swoop of her hand, and they fall down into glimmering bits like rain.

Mira screams as she charges for Everett. The wind howls alongside her. Everett raises his hand, but whatever magic he has is cut short when a dagger flies through the air, clattering against his now-invulnerable body.

Fen and Alice are standing by one archway with Marina and Vic behind them. Alice has splatters of blood all over her face, but the weapon she holds in her hand glows pearlescent. The Leo Blade encases her form in a silver aura as she wields the weapon, and Eliot realizes whose blood it must be.

A look of panic flickers across Everett’s face, but the next second he’s calm again. He steps back, dodging effortlessly out of the way, as Alice charges for him. 

Everett rises from the ground and hovers in midair. The guards run into the midst of the chaos again, but this time they’re gritting their teeth, struggling against their own bodies like they’ve been forced to move against their will. Energy pulses from Everett’s core into countless rays, and to everyone’s horror, the guards are running toward it. One in particular is at the very front of the pack, his face red, and his eyes lifeless one second and panicked the next.

“Baylor!” Fen cries out. 

“Stop!” Margo pushes her way to the front, a determined look in her eyes. Eliot runs across the room to try and pull her out of the way—she’s standing close, too close, and one of Everett’s beams might puncture right through her—but then she throws out her hands on either side, and a wall of ice begin to form, solidifying on either side before they grow in expanse until they join up in a full circle, closing Eliot and his friends inside and keeping the guards out.

Margo is shaking now, already growing weak from overexertion. Mira runs up to Margo and grabs her hand, and lends her strength. Wind soars into the room from the broken windows, and the walls grow taller, spiking up toward the ceiling. The floor beneath their feet grows frigid. And Eliot keeps running toward her, knowing what’s about to happen.

He catches Margo as she falls back, kneeling hard against the ground, cradling her head in his lap as blood gushes down her nose. Eliot is vaguely aware of Everett firing a spell at him, but Mira disperses it with a gust of wind that tackles it into the wall of ice and blows a hole right through. 

_Don't you try and pretend_

_It's my feeling we'll win in the end_

A child’s voice echoes in Eliot’s mind. _His_ voice. He’s singing to Margo inside the cave, begging for her to wake up, holding her in the same way he’s doing now. It hurts just as much as the first time it happened.

The Cacodemon wriggles his skin, ready to be freed. Kady turns to Eliot as he cradles Margo’s head in his lap, watching the blood gush down her nose. It hurts just as much as the first time it happened, but this time, he’s not alone. Kady meets his eyes, and he nods. _Together,_ Kady signs, bringing two fists together in front of her chest and turning once.

“Eliot says go free.”

“Kady says go free.”

They hunch their backs and lean forward as the Cacodemons leap from their backs and find their targets. 

The fairies scatter as Eliot’s beast collides into Irene, tipping back the throne. She opens her mouth, but whatever she wanted to say, it was too late. The throne falls on its back, and Irene rolls off from the side with none of the grace she used to poise herself with like a sweet facade. She lies face-up from the ground and doesn’t move anymore.

Everett crosses his arms in front of him, forming an orange dome-shaped shield that curves out like a ward. The bonds of the shield fizzle when the Cacodemon comes into contact with Everett and hold still. But the impact of the collision pushes Everett back. He slides on his feet, making the ground squeal. Alice is ready for him. She charges from behind, hand outstretched, the Leo Blade clutched in a death grip in her fist. Everett backs into the Blade from the impact of Kady’s hit, too late to pull himself free. It tears through the fabric of his being and runs through his core.

Gods, as Eliot learns that day, don’t shatter into a million pieces when they die. They crumple into a heap on the ground, their bodies eerily human-like in their vulnerability. It gives him the creeps.

Something seeps out from the wound on Everett’s back after he collapses face-down, a beam of blue light that swirls around the air like a ribbon, swimming aimlessly before drifting its way over to Marina and Kady, both of them huddled against one another in comfort.

“This magic,” Marina says, “it feels familiar.” 

Marina lifts her palm, and the magical beam lingers, grazes across the surface of her skin, then floats away. It twirls as it raises itself higher and higher overhead until it touches the chandelier on the high ceiling. Then it wriggles itself into one of the prisms hanging from it, making it glow blue from the inside. 

“It was Pete’s magical core,” Kady tells her. “Before Harriet untethered it to save his life. And now it’s free.”


	28. Part Seventeen: Fen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fen receives the appreciation she deserves. The lost men come home. Margo flirts without shame.

**Two Days Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Fairies roam around invisible to most, but even when a fairy chooses to reveal their presence, the stark white of their skin and their robes allow them to fade against a snowy winter backdrop. Fen stands by the river that marks the east side of the Silentspell border and tilts her head up to meet the Fairy Queen’s eyes. Next to Fen, Julia gives the Fairy Queen a look of awe; she had offered to accompany Fen as backup before Fen headed out from the Inn, noting that the sky is already brightening into another dawn. 

Fen hadn’t expected the Queen to answer; fairies were elusive as far as she’d heard, and many of them would avoid contact with humans at all costs. Mira’s presence must have compelled the Queen to hear them out. Margo had fallen unconscious after her final spell, and Eliot had carried her back. With Penny and Victoria’s help, they had been able to reach the village on foot in time, and Margo and the other guests had settled back into the Inn, this time without charge. 

The timely return means Margo and her friends and her mother had found their way back to the village, and so long as they don’t leave the borders again for another evening, they will be safe with their memories; and Fen, in turn, will be safe with hers. But it also means they are all on borrowed time: unless the Children of Earth commit to a future of staying within the borders of the village, they will be giving up most of their knowledge from their Quest. Perhaps Fen would exist in their minds’ versions of the battle, but only as a stranger.

The thought hurts Fen more than she wishes to admit.

“I know why you summoned me,” the Queen says. She looks at Mira, who gives her a tight-lipped smile, looking like she never wishes to speak again or had run out of things to say. “I understand that both Everett Rowe and High King Irene had been vanquished.”

“They’re dead,” Julia says. “If that’s all you’re asking for.”

Fairies are quite subtle with their facial expressions. As the Queen turns to look at Julia, who is by far the smallest of them, Fen can’t figure out if the Queen is considering Julia’s words or astonished at the bluntness of it. “I imagine,” the Queen responds, no hint of teasing in her voice, “that the humans would be much safer now that they don’t have to be afraid of losing their magical cores.”

“We couldn’t have done it without your intervention,” Fen says. And she means it. Eliot had told her the deal he’d struck the night before, and it was a surprise that the Queen had entertained the idea of breaking such a tradition at all. “So thank you. It was a great help to see Irene restrained while we worked on defeating our other enemy.”

This time Fen notices the Queen smiling. “My help is rarely acknowledged,” the Queen says. “And I am grateful to be of assistance. Irene McAllister had been a vile threat for my kind for many years. I have considered breaking the deal long before Eliot’s proposal.”

“Then why wait?” Julia asks.

“Sometimes, humans who find themselves in a position of power are unaware of how vulnerable it may be. Your lives are short-lived, by far, compared to many of us. Or to the nymphs, the centaurs, the nyads… My reasoning is that humans are short-sighted because their existence is temporary. So they grow up wanting for more, but it is the same greed that will make their hardships more devastating. The McAllister’s relied on my people far too much. They exposed all their secrets, and the fairies who served them know exactly how to defeat them, if given the opportunity. I believe biding my time had been the right decision.”

Mira walks closer, bunching the sides of her borrowed robe with her fists. “What are you going to do now that they’re free?”

“What I had been waiting for all my life, Mira,” the Queen says. Mira stills at the sound of her own name—a surprise for all three humans, judging by the way Julia’s eyebrows lift. “And I need your help.”

“We’ve come to ask for an exchange.” Mira turns back to Fen and offers her a sympathetic look. Mira had noticed the orb pendant on their way back to the Inn a few hours ago, but said nothing. The weight of the tetraglass pulls tightly against Fen’s neck, too heavy for Fen to forget it’s there. “I had made the deal on Silentspell’s shield years ago. I did it to protect the Leo Blade and the family and friends of the Blademaker. But the King is dead. There is no more threat these people need to hide from. Is it possible to revoke the spell?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Julia adds, sensing the Queen’s hesitation, “especially after you made an exception for us last night. But I want to remember this Quest. All of it. And I believe my friends would say the same.”

The Queen turns to Fen, but Fen doesn’t want to speak about Margo. Not in front of her long lost mother, or Eliot’s friend, or someone who holds the power of the shield that has changed her life in too many ways to count. Instead, Fen nods, a silent promise that she would be willing to help fulfill their end of the bargain, whatever it may be.

“I have never made exceptions to anyone I dealt with besides Eliot. That deal had been made partly out of self-preservation of my species. This is a different matter, but it is one I am willing to negotiate, for old time’s sake.”

Relief washes over Fen, but she doesn’t let herself smile. Mira gives the Queen a grateful look and asks, “What are your terms?”

“I have one.” The Fairy Queen reaches forward and touches Mira’s shoulder. They look at each other with mutual respect, both inclining their heads as Mira realizes what the Queen is asking. “My Children who had been brought to serve the Former High King in the Castle have found their way back to our Kingdom. But we have not celebrated their return. We have decided to wait. There are a few dozens of us left on Earth, scattered alongside the land where various McAllister descendants still live. The deal had already been broken; they should be free to defend themselves from their former oppressors. 

“But they are isolated. So I ask that you help me find them and bring them home, like you and your former partner had once intended. You can bring them through the portal. I believe the family has one in their possession, though it may take a few houses before you locate it. The portal leads to the trunk of an old willow in these woods and works two ways. Once they are in Fillorian grounds, I will lead them the rest of the way.”

“I would be happy to,” Mira says. Her voice is thicker, but she sounds at peace. “In my name and Hannah’s memory.” 

They shake on the deal. 

* * *

The sun rises after the Fairy Queen lowers the shield. Fen is no stranger to the sight of her own village, but Julia and Mira take a pause, exchanging a look before stepping in. They don’t talk on their way back to the Inn, and Fen leads the way, her mind swimming with possibilities. What does this mean for Fray, or Josh, or any of her old guests who had come in search of a place to hide?

All of Fen’s thoughts are cut short when she and her companions round the corner onto Haven Way. She expects the place be empty save for a few early-risers out and about, the same neighbors she’d wave good morning to every sunrise. Instead, Fillorians lined the entire street, making a wide berth in the middle in anticipation of something.

Someone.

As Fen steps into view, people burst into applause. Fen turns around to greet them all, dazed to receive such a warm welcome. Surely she was not the only Fillorian who had done something heroic? And it was the Questers who brought hope back into this Kingdom. She hadn’t expected news to travel so fast.

Julia smirks when Fen turns, about to ask if she knew anything about what’s happening. Mira gives her a knowing look and nods at the crowd. So Fen turns back and approaches a family of four, two men with their two small children. The youngest, a girl in a scarlet cloak, throws her arms around Fen’s waist and clings, snuggling her head against the skirt of Fen’s dress. She doesn’t know any of these people by name, but something about the look in their eyes makes Fen’s heart swell despite herself. She pats the girl on the shoulder, realizing that she remembers them in ways despite the old shield around the village can’t take away.

“I know you don’t remember us.” One of the dads, a tall, rugged man in a leather apron, shakes Fen’s hand. “But my boyfriend and I traveled here from Exaetica across the galaxy three years ago, searching for a world that would allow us to marry and have a family. We stayed with you for six months. You taught us all about your Kingdom, and because of you, we were able to start a new life here.”

“It’s my honor.” Fen inclines her head. “How did you know to find me?”

Instead of answering, the other dad gestures to the end of the road where the Inn sits. Fen turns and sees Fray running toward her, uncloaked except for her dress. Josh and Gallop follow close behind Fray. Josh must have had a hand in organizing the surprise, and despite her cheeks warming at the sheer number of people who had shown up to thank her, it’s endearing to see how much trouble he’d gone through to rally everyone back.

“I had expected the Fairy Queen to negotiate a change in her deal,” Gallop says. Some of the guests shout out his name, and he tilts his head in acknowledgement.

Fray barrels into Fen, and the hug knocks the air out of her, making her laugh. Then Fray gives the dads a wave, not at all surprised about their presence. As an outsider who had stayed inside the borders, Fray was not bound by the memory part of the spell in the same way Fen had been. There were times Fray would offer to restore Fen’s memory somehow, venture inside her mind and pull it back, whatever pieces she could scavenge; Fen had always refused, not wanting Fray to believe her psychic power was a demand for too much responsibility.

“I ventured through the woods after it became apparent you and Alice Quinn would not return through the same path,” Gallop explains, stopping by both of them. The scarlet-cloaked girl gasps in delight and reaches to touch Gallop’s mane. Her older brother holds back with an uncertain look, but steps forward to give Gallop a hard pat on the neck with his dad’s encouragement. “On my way back to the village, I paid some families a visit. None of us were certain if the King had been overthrown, but your former guests had promised to make the journey back and wait by the borders. It would appear some of them had brought friends.”

“Well, thank you,” Fen says to both of them. 

Gallop huffs in acknowledgment, and Josh shrugs. “Thought I’d whip out the old pans and test out my cakes again,” Josh says. “Anyone hungry?”

Instead of eating back at the Inn where only two dozen guests could fit in the reception chamber, Fen helps Josh wheel out a gigantic multilayered cake on a cart, all the layers separated and propped up to different heights by silver stands. Fray passes everyone a paper plate from the massive stack magically hovering steadily beside her. Fen takes the time to speak with all the guests as she serves them the decadent lemon-and-poppy sponge with blackcurrant icing and demolishes the top layer with nothing but a large spoon in-between serves. They tell Fen when they’d found shelter at the Inn and how she had helped them start a new chapter in their lives. 

It’s bittersweet to hear how much Fen had forgotten. While Fen wishes she could have remembered all her guests without needing to be reminded of their past, now that the shield is lowered and the King no longer a threat, Fen has all the time in the world to catch up. With her mother’s return and Fray’s newfound freedom, Fen can’t begin to imagine what this means for their future. For once, she is excited about the uncertainty.

* * *

The portal to Earth opens up in the hollows of a willow tree a mile away from the river. It had taken a few hours for Mira, Kady, and Penny to sort out the messy aftermath of the McAllister’s legacy across the land in Josh’s nation that he called the “East Coast”. They found the portal inside Irene’s abandoned house in the end, one she and her family had been using since she came to rule, through an open door of an old grandfather clock.

Meanwhile, Julia and Quentin takes a trip down to the Underworld using the Compass as payment to the gatekeeper, a dragon. They speak to Her Lady Underground, and by sundown, all the Shades have been returned to their rightful owners. The former royal guards walked out of the Castle in the dark and followed the lanterns hanging outside people’s houses. The lanterns light up the path from the West of the Kingdom where the Castle sits all the way across to the East, ending by the houses lining up the ports with nothing beyond except the sea. Midwinter’s Eve is in two days, but by habit, people always put up the lanterns earlier, and this year the lights had served their purpose and guided the lost men home. 

Some of the former guards had chosen to go home to reconcile with their families, but the majority had decided to leave and head for a world that doesn’t know their names, Fen’s childhood best friend Baylor among them. After the honored guests from Fen’s past had retreated into the spare rooms left at the Inn or made the short journey home with the promise to return on Midwinter’s Eve, Fen shares one last picnic with Baylor inside the greenhouse, both of them steering clear of the fountain in the center where the statue of the Gods still stands. The fountain will have to be replaced or remodeled, but Fen puts it out of her mind. For once she is looking forward to Midwinter’s Eve; errands can wait.

Fen doesn’t ask about Baylor’s time at the Castle, and instead lets him ask questions about Fray and the Inn and all the little ways their village had changed. They talk until they see the Amaryllis Major constellation through the skylight over the greenhouse roof, the symbol of a woman who fought as a knight alongside men against Loria, according to legends. When they look down again, they fall silent at the same time. Baylor is the first to stand, and Fen picks up the picnic basket and leads the way out. 

On their walk to the willow tree, Fen tells him about Josh’s bakery, about his most whimsical creations of little cakes she’d ever tasted, and Baylor beams at that—always the sweet tooth—and tells her he looks forward to trying them out. It will take some time before Fen can make sense of it all: the Leo Blade had grown from five moonstones to a weapon responsible for the destruction of a God, and on top of that, there is the matter of her mother’s return. 

But mostly, she had fallen for a kind stranger who stopped by her village despite every rational thought in her head telling her not to risk having her heart broken, and said stranger had not only been responsible for lowering the shield that had kept Silentspell isolated for over a decade, but also changed Fen’s life.  _ Goodness _ .

“Thank you,” Baylor tells her once they arrive at the willow. “Not just for saving me. For being my friend, before, you know.”

“I’ve missed you.” Fen tries to keep her voice steady. “And in case you change your mind, or wish to wait—I wouldn’t mind if you want to stay with my family Help out around the village. As long as you need.”

Bayloe shakes his head. “I don’t know if I can start a new life in the same Kingdom, Fen. Not after what I’ve done. Even if I was without my Shade, I… I’ve hurt people. I’ve killed on the King’s orders. The victims were some of our own. I can’t stay here knowing I might have been responsible for the death of someone’s family.”

Fen wants to tell Baylor it’s not his fault, but he knows, and understanding it doesn’t mean he can reconcile with the part of himself that aches regardless. So instead she nods, pulls him into another hug. 

“It would be best for me to leave,” he continues, lowering his voice. “I’m not what Fillory needs right now.”

“If you ever wish to come back or visit—”

“I know.” He pulls away and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Fen’s ear. “Tell you what, I’ll get in touch with one of your Earth friends, and they can show me the way back.”

_ Earth friends.  _

Three years ago it would have been unimaginable for Fen to make acquaintances with Children of Earth. Two years ago, Josh fell out of the sky in front of Fen and became her first connection to the faraway land. But now? 

“Earth isn’t a difficult place to love,” Fen tells her friend. “Based on what my friends told me, it’s different, very different, but it has something to offer for everyone. Even if the fallen King had come from the same land, most Children of Earth aren’t like her.”

“I suppose you would find it easier to accept all this,” Baylor says. “That’s what makes you different. You see people as people, not a part of a problem or an answer. I believe my time on Earth will be valuable, whether I decide to return in the end. But right now the Kingdom needs people like you. Not me.”

He smiles, a full smile Fen hasn’t seen in years, and she tries to remember how he looks when he’s happy. She wants to ask him to stay, but any attempt at dissuading Baylor from stepping through the portal would be made out of a selfish need. Fen had spent four years creating a new life for herself, and finding the answer to the one question that haunted her seems to help absolve some of her shame, if not all. Silently, Fen looks at the willow and admits that Baylor had been an inseparable part of her past, but their present is about to change very drastically. It is okay to let go, and it will be the best choice for them both.

“Whatever path you end up taking,” Fen tells him before he walks through, “I hope you find peace. I hope you find something to live for instead of fight for.”

* * *

**One Day Before Midwinter’s Eve**

Margo has been stirring in her sleep for the past three hours, and Fen knows because she had been watching Margo since sunrise. In Fen’s defense, she had attempted to go into the kitchen to help with breakfast, but her parents and friends had shooed her out and insisted she takes a day off. And while Eliot and Quentin had offered for Fen to come help them set up for Midwinter’s Eve around the village, in the end Fen had declined all offers to bring her out of the house and opted for staying inside.

Not to mention, Margo had been relocated to Fen’s bedroom since they had returned from Whitespire two mornings ago. She had been unconscious in Eliot’s arms when the travelers transported them back, but the healer said she would make a full recovery. It does mean, of course, that Margo had found herself bombarded by countless visitors for the past two days. If she hadn’t been asleep the whole time, she would have made quite a fuss.

But this morning, Fen finds herself in the room alone. She takes the chance to study Margo, from the way she mumbles in her sleep to the way she always turns herself around on her stomach, burying her face into the pillow. If anyone asks, Fen will insist she’s watching for signs of hypothermia. The healer had said it was a possibility, however slight, because physical magic has a tendency to trigger delayed responses after overexertion, and a massive display of cryomancy in the middle of winter does not help the matter. 

Fen startles when the woman in question lifts her head from the pillow and peers around, cursing when she finds herself in an unrecognizable room. A very,  _ very _ soft blush pink, which had never bothered Fen before—she’d picked the color herself to paint her own walls—until now, in full view of an honored guest. Margo’s eyes land on Fen eventually. She flops herself around to lie on her back, a devilish grin crawling up her cheek.

“I see I’ve got an upgrade. Presidential suite,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes with the back of her sleeves before she looks at the nightgown she’s wearing. “Huh.”

“Your cloak and your blouse are drying out back. I washed the blood off them yesterday. I hope you don’t mind.”

“So you undressed me?”

The question makes Fen blush. “Why me?”

“I don’t think my other options are any less fucking weird. I mean, my ex, my former best friend who hasn’t seen me undressed in fourteen years, Josh, and—I’m sure Kady and her friends are great, and they’re all hot, but I don’t know shit about them, so if I wanted to get naked and bang it out I’d rather do it when I’m awake, and—well, there’s my mom.”

“It was your mother, mostly. And me.”

“Oh.” Margo thinks about it and sighs. “Shit. Fine. I can live with that.”

“Your mother was here earlier before breakfast. I can go get her if you—”

“ _ No _ .” To emphasize, Margo raises her hands in surrender. “Nope. Too soon. I’ll talk to her after, fuck, Midwinter’s Eve. Or something.”

“Okay.” Now Margo’s gaze is trailing down the neckline of Fen’s blouse. Fen looks down quickly but doesn’t see anywhere indecent exposed, and clears her throat. “I-uhh-I’ll let them know. About you. Waking up. I mean. Yes. They worry.”

“Okay,” Margo repeats, not hiding the amusement in her voice. Then she frowns. “Waking up? How long was I out?”

“Two days. Well, over a day. It was before sunrise when we brought you back. Right now it’s a little past mid-day.”

“Shit.”

“How are you feeling?”

Ever so indecently, without realizing, Fen finds herself staring down at Margo’s neckline, wondering about the place where her Shade had been pulled out in her memory. Margo catches Fen looking but winks, which makes it all the more difficult for Fen to clear up the fact that she was only checking to make sure Margo hadn’t made her injury worse. That was all.

But whatever Fen wishes to say is cut short when Margo says, “I’m feeling better, actually. A lot better.” She pauses. “I’m not dying, am I?”

“Goodness, no!” Fen says right away. “The healer expects you’ll make a full recovery.”

“Well.” Margo tilts her head, then shrugs. “I probably needed twenty-four hours to sleep off all this God-slaying shit.”

“It was incredible, your magic,” Fen says. She debates taking it back, wondering if Margo might not like to be reminded of her power, but Margo nods for her to continue. “What you did up at the Castle with the ice walls. You saved a lot of people.”

“Good.” Margo pulls the comforter past her shoulder and slips her arms back under. “I mean, it’s okay. It’s… good. It felt good.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Maybe when I passed out and sat my ass on the ground.” Margo chuckles. “But before that, it was… I haven’t felt it in a long time. Doing something good with my powers, I mean. Even if I overworked myself.”

“I would rather you didn’t,” Fen says.

“Tell you what. Next time I work myself up to self-destruction, you can give me a kiss. It’ll snap me right out.”

Fen crosses her arms, not feeling quite as miffed as she looks. She is only caving because Margo is injured. Most certainly. “Maybe I will.”

Margo shuffles in bed where she lies, delighted that Fen had taken up on her offer. She turns her head to look at the contents of Fen’s shelves, then across at the desk on the other end of the room. She points at Cottontail, the stuffed bunny sitting by the windowsill, one Fen’s mother had sewn for her fifth birthday. “Didn’t know you were a bunny person.”

Her teasing makes Fen huff, displeased to find herself at the mercy of being judged by a woman she had come to respect. “There are a lot of things about me you don’t know.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Fen looks at her closed door, even though a voice in her head is reminding her that it is most indecent to insinuate such a thing to someone she’d only kissed days ago. Not that Margo had ever fallen prey to Fen’s teasing. A record Fen hopes to rectify.

“Midwinter’s Eve isn’t for another two days,” Fen says. She leans forward in her chair. “The villagers have been quite proactive, setting up the streets and the potluck catering and the band of talking songbirds. I don’t believe the neighbors require my assistance. And my kitchen staff had decided I needed a day off and banished me.”

“So no one’s gonna barge in asking for your help?”

“Not if I’m in here. They would hate to wake you.”

Margo’s devilish grin grows wider. She shuffles in bed and leaves space for Fen to climb in, and lifts up a corner of the comforter, patting the space. Fen gives Margo an affronted look, fully aware that it would only amuse her and never dissuade her. But Fen climbs in regardless, knowing that when Margo puts her mind to something—whether it’s vanquishing a God and a tyrant King or flirting with a stranger—she will not rest until the deed is done.

“I should let Eliot know you’re awake,” Fen says the moment she settles in.

“Give it another hour.” Margo pulls Fen in by the shoulder underneath the comforter. Her touch is gentle, and it tickles, but Fen doesn’t laugh to give her the satisfaction. “He’ll live.”

Fen humphs, displeased. But the bed is too cozy and enticing compared to the prospect of venturing all the way back out. So she turns to face Margo, only to see that Margo had leaned forward on her pillow, close enough for their noses to touch. “If you want, I can tell one of the talking blue jays. And they could—”

“ _ Fen _ .” Margo places a finger over her lips, effectively stopping her mid-sentence. “Shut up and kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends: I WANT MORE FEN SHE'S SO SOFT I CAN READ ABOUT HER ALL DAY.  
> Sas: Hold my fluff.


	29. Part Eighteen: Margo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midwinter’s Eve celebration. Restoring magic to a Kingdom. Finally, some good fucking feels!

**Midwinter’s Eve**

No shield around Silentspell means the air inside feels as stifled as it does in the rest of the Kingdom. Even though Margo is happy she’ll be remembered by the villagers, one in particular, she admits it’s disappointing to see how much of the ambient magic had been taken for one selfish tyrant’s use. But that’s all about to change.

For the past few days, El and Q had helped the villagers decorate the streets for the Midwinter’s Eve celebration. This year the villagers had voted to go all out with the festivities to celebrate the lost men’s return. Though there are no electric sockets around for string lights, the boys had hung spare lanterns on the wires connecting the torch posts that line the roads, Fillory’s version of street lamps. 

Today it’s snowing again, but the snow is much gentler, like the one Margo remembers as a child. The lanterns light the way with little fires glowing inside. Alice had cast spells before dinner to make little blue and yellow lights appear as a finishing touch, decidedly steering clear of Christmas colors—the Children of Earth had overtaken enough Fillorian culture as it stands. But Josh had decided to snap his fingers and make a few mistletoes, shamelessly declaring that the symbols of love have a universal appeal. 

It backfires right in Josh’s face: the soil and atmosphere in Fillory are composed differently, so the mistletoes come out orange instead of green, and spawn in hundreds instead of a dozen. The village children are delighted; the adults shake their heads, not at all surprised at the classic display of Hoberman antics. The verdict? The infestations are allowed to stay, but just for tonight.

After sundown, Fen’s parents and Kady and Josh drag the dining table from the Inn’s reception chamber all the way to the middle of Haven Way in full view for the rest of the villagers to see. Two dozen batteries sit in a circle surrounding the dining table, and Margo feels the energy inside the hard rounded shells sizzling in anticipation of its release. Alice and Julia stand inside the circle of batteries facing each other while everyone gathers, holding their breaths while they wait. 

In the center of the table sits the once-dangling crystal on the chandelier in Whitespire’s throne room. Pete’s former magical core stirs inside, glimmering like a rainbow streak when the lights hit. Three more prisms, cleanly cut and recently polished for the sake of precision, surround the crystal from the chandelier

“Ready?” Julia asks.

Alice nods. In perfect synchrony, they begin to cast, drawing from the batteries that vibrate against the soft layer of snow, then crackle, then burst in halves. Bright beams of light emerge from them, trapping Julia and Alice in a cage of immaculate power. Their voices grow louder as they reach the apex of their incantations, and the light beams redirect themselves through the three prisms, all gathering at the center where the crystal sits.

For a moment, the crystal glows like a second sun.

There is no sound when the magical core disperses, shattering the crystal into shimmery dust. People duck, but they needn’t worry; all the power rises straight into the air, reaching the clouds before scattering in all directions like a firework. The rainbow streams light up the sky as the raw energy travels throughout the Kingdom to bring back life in full magical glory, and the sight of it makes the villagers gasp. Margo lifts her head up to admire the view alongside them. It reminds her of the aurora borealis on Earth, and whether Fillory has a version of that, she isn’t sure, but either way, it takes her breath away.

Literally.

Margo feels the moment magic comes back in full swing, her chest tightening as frost gathers at her fingertips through the leather of her new gloves without her conscious command. She lets out a deep breath, lifting more weight from inside herself than she believes she was capable of holding. Judging by the silence, all the magicians around the village must have noticed the change. On Earth, magic rises from her own body and beckons her to wake up the rest of the world by her spells’ command; but here magic gives a life to the Kingdom of its own accord and waits for the humans to cast their own marks upon the land in return, a conversation instead of an invitation.

Penny excuses himself and vanishes for a few minutes, and returns with a man in a black peacoat who he introduces as Pete. He brings the guy here to show him what his former magical core had helped fix: there was no way the core could be re-tethered to his soul once it had been cleaved by Harriet’s spell, but out of respect, the Children of Earth had asked for his blessing to use it to restore the Kingdom via bunny. Pete had responded that they may as well. But now he takes a look at what he’d helped fix, and he gives an approving nod, stating it’s worth it. 

Someone walks up behind Margo. She can tell it’s Eliot by infuriatingly tall shadow cast on the ground in front of them, swallowing hers entirely. El is watching her hands when she turns to give him an amused look, and she lifts her palms up to the sky in response. The falling snow gathers around her, bonding with each other until they form one large snowflake that magnifies itself to the size of El’s outstretched hand.

El wants to catch Margo’s snowflake, but it appears to have a mind of its own. It drifts away from El in taunting, and, frustrated, he groans and pulls his hand away, only to detach a lantern hanging on a wire nearby with his telekinesis. He curses as the lantern soars toward him and steps aside when it looks like the lantern is ready to whack him in the face. The lantern joins the snowflake, both of them rising in the air as they glide Westward toward Castle Whitespire and the mountains before the Lorian border. 

Following his lead, Fray lifts her hand and unlatches another lantern from the wire across the road. She meets Eliot’s eyes and beams before commanding hers to join them, and soon, the magicians in the village, Children of Earth and Fillorians alike, followed up with their own contribution. Now there are dozens of lanterns drifting toward the trees outside the west borders of Silentspell. El stands a little taller and watches them go, pleased that the mistake had become a happy accident. He lifts both hands and lets the rest of the lanterns hanging between the torch posts join the flock on their merry magical way, though he spares the ones outside the cottages and shops.

“The Lorians are going to wonder what the fuck’s happening,” El says when the snowflake and the first of the floating caravan of light glide over the trees in the forest. 

“I hope we haven’t started a war,” she teases.

El tilts his head, considering the idea, but humphs. “I don’t know how aggressive the Lorians are. For all we know, Fillory’s the actual dick. Maybe they’ll see it as a peace offering. That’ll be nice. No more battles—wars are a waste of human lives if you ask me.”

Margo looks at the lanterns and her snowflake soaring their way to the mountains that separate the two Kingdoms, proud of the way he chose to deflect her. El might have grown out of many things, but he’s still a pacifist at heart. Everything he did on his Quest was to help restore peace, even though the Kingdom’s affairs had never been his mess.

“So,” she asks, looking into his eyes, “now what?”

“You’re asking if I wanna stay?”

She shrugs but doesn’t deny it. “I’m thinking of extending my holiday. New Year’s Eve is a boozy commercial nightmare. I bet all the plane tickets are gone. Or, shit, I don’t know, I can’t give a fuck about a degree after hijacking your Quest. I might drop out. Save myself from that last bit of student loans. So if you and your nerd boy wanna bang it out in the land of his dreams, I’ll be around.”

El chortles, looks past her shoulder and gives Quentin a cheeky grin, and says, “Q and I talked about this after the battle. Where we’ll go. Harriet told us we’re always welcome back at her place, but Kady would’ve never let us live it down.”

“Well, if you’re not broke, you can find your own place.”

“Maybe we will.”

Eliot moves closer and pulls Margo close by her waist. His touch makes her feel a little more at home like the first time he’d hugged her back at the stables days ago, even if she doesn’t know where the fuck home is anymore. She hasn’t known since she’d left Chicago. But now is a good chance to start over, and if El doesn’t mind her sticking around—

“We’re thinking about Silentspell,” El continues, cutting off the rest of her thought. “But we might try another village. The one we saw on the wall walk that day—remember the one?”

“Mining village, wasn’t it?” Margo pictures pink leaves against dark hills in autumn. She hasn’t imagined seeing it from within. “Westpeak?”

“That’s the one. It’d be nice to see the trees from inside for once, but… too close to the Castle. We might still consider it. Depends on who gets the throne next.”

Margo nods but doesn’t comment. When he doesn’t continue, she changes the topic. The discussion on the future of the Kingdom can wait for tonight. “ _ So _ . You and Quentin?”

“Hmm?”

“How’d you find yourself a Fillory fanboy? Sounds like trouble for the Lost Prince.”

“ _ So much _ trouble,” El agrees. “I think it’s some kind of fated bullshit, but he’s cute. He’s a cute fucking dork. He’ll be lost without me, so I’m rolling with it.”

“You met on Earth?”

“Wellllll. Short version?” El lowers his voice, ducking his head so he’s whispering in his ear. “Cock told me his name, I spent a year in the realm of nerds… I may or may not have, well, stumbled upon a certain biography.”

She gasps. “You did  _ not _ spy on that poor boy’s life.”

“It’s destiny.” He lets go of her waist and raises his hands in surrender. “Can’t help it when it comes to destiny. I mean, okay, I skipped half the chapters; I didn’t wanna know everything and make myself suspicious when I go down to find him in person, which, by the way, the book was very, very clear about, so that’s how I didn’t get lost in the city… But I knew Q before he knew me. Took a while for me to spill my whole tragic backstory. Jules nagged me ‘till I caved; Q was too nice to insist.”

Margo rolls her eyes, secretly thanking the best friend in question for pushing as she searches for Julia in the crowd. It’s always helpful to have backup, and no doubt El’s life would’ve been shittier if he’d kept everything to himself. Margo finds Julia snogging Kady under one of Josh’s orange mistletoes and turns away, acknowledging that Penny is standing nearby, waiting his turn with a sappy grin on his face. 

“You really haven’t taken a peek at my book of doom? Ever?”

El’s pause gives away the answer before he speaks again. “I haven’t read your book. But there was a mirror, and your mother has a penchant for scrying.”

“Huh,” Margo says. That was a part of her mom she’s never seen, but it seems like her mom had a whole secret life she never knew. At least now she’ll be around to answer questions. “What did you see?”

“You in a purple dress, dancing on ice with a whole audience behind the rink.” He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes once. “Mira showed it to me. Said you would’ve been twelve. I didn’t know you skated.”

“I used to. I… I grew out of it. Okay, I quit. But it was good,” she admits for the first time.

Margo had made peace with that part of her past years ago when she showed it to Vic. Recalling it now doesn’t hurt her like it did then, but hearing El talk about it brings something new, something comforting. She hadn’t believed anyone cared to watch her skate by the time she quit, but El had seen her, and she knew if El had been in her life then, he would never have stopped watching.

She initiates the hugs this time, wrapping her arms around him and tilting her head to smile. He hugs her in return, shows Margo all he needs to say without words. This trip had started out as a self-destructive mission to get over her past, but look where she is now, all her shit sorted with no terms and conditions and  _ what if _ ’s. 

Margo had made mistakes she couldn’t take back, mistakes that had broken more than any mortal could fix. She used to believe all she could do was make shit worse. Finding a happy ending for once doesn’t mean Margo is free from the treacherous voice in her head telling her she’ll screw it all back up. Now, though, Eliot will be here to prove her wrong. 

Because on a bad day, Margo may still see herself as selfish, or reckless, or angry, most definitely angry; but one thing she did right was being Eliot’s best friend.

“May I have this dance?”

Eliot lets go of her, steps back, and bows, holding out his hand. Margo accepts it, noticing that a flock of songbirds had found their way to the village’s celebration and lined themselves up on the wires where no more lanterns hang, scattered between Alice’s pretty little lights. The songbirds sing the opening verse of a song in a different language, one that has the younger people in the crowd frowning and the elders grinning in delight. It must be an old Fillorian song lost over the years, though apparently only to the humans.

Margo accepts his hand and lets him guide her into a waltz. After a few steps, she raises a brow. “How come you get to lead?”

Eliot doesn’t stop dancing. What he tells her next makes her want to shove him, hug him again,  _ both _ . “A good friend once told me the lead is whoever’s taller.”

* * *

After one waltz, El trots away to find Quentin like the lovesick puppy that he is. Margo shakes her head and sighs, pleased that El had found himself someone to cling to, though she’ll never admit it endears her. Fen is speaking to Tansy across the road, but upon Margo’s look, she turns and meets her eyes, then comes over.

“Tansy was telling me about your evening… gown,” Fen stammers the last word, admiring the view.

Margo gives Fen an amused look but decides not to tease. For the sake of the festivals, she’ll go easy on Fen. She’s wearing a flared black jumpsuit with a golden belt, completed by a red velvet cloak in a jewel tone. The seamster had worked their magic last minute after Margo was cleared to get the fuck out of bed. They had insinuated by no subtle means that Fen will find it irresistible, and clearly they know their friend well.

“They’re real good at their job,” Margo says. “They made your dress too?”

Fen looks down at the skirt of her gown, off-shoulder in an understated periwinkle color with a white cloak that gives her a soft, snowy vibe. A blush blooming across Fen’s cheek. “A few years ago. I—I never got to wear it, not with the work I do, but tonight...”

She looks up when Margo touches her shoulder, caught in mid-sentence. “You look cute.”

“Oh—I—thank you—I—” Fen stops herself. “Would you like to join me for a walk? I can show you the lake.”

The birds are still singing in the same language Margo can’t recognize. She lets Fen lead her away, grateful to have some space away from the festivities. Fen guides Margo southward, walking through the berth between the cottages until they reach the portion of farmland with flax growing year-round, magically shielded and mostly oblivious to the change in temperature except when the snowstorms got bad. They walk through shortcut tunnels, and when they finally stop at the lake, they can’t hear the birds anymore.

“So the music back there on Haven Way,” Margo starts, “is it, like, ancient Fillorian? Some kind of traditional song?”

“It’s an epic, actually.” Fen’s eyes light up. “Goes on for three-quarters of an hour—it’ll be quite some time before the birds are finished, but they might start another. We’ve got a dozen epics back in history. I’m surprised the birds remember what we don’t.”

“And the language?”

“I had to ask mom about it earlier. She says it’s one of the traditional Fillorian languages; there used to be three. My grandparents were the last people who heard this as children. The High King at the time decided it would be outlawed.”

They continue walking toward the edge of the lake, which had apparently frozen over. Fen reaches for Margo’s hand, and she accepts it, for once without comment. “That’s a shame,” Margo says. “Any chance you can bring it back?”

“Me?” Fen gives her a humored look.

“You,” Margo insists, tugging her arm. “Why not? I think you know half the Kingdom by now. And I’m sure the elders will be more than happy to assist. And the birds.”

Fen doesn’t answer, but she scrunches her nose and guides Margo to a little dock on the side of the lake, behind which stands a single, lone cottage. There had been other cottages in the area, judging by a stray leftover peg here and there still dug into the earth, but whoever lived in those cottages must have decided to relocate. 

Margo waits for Fen to speak, not wanting to turn the conversation her way. She’d done more talking than she cares to after waking up and assuring her friends and her mom that she’s alive and not about to go into another Queen Elsa-spree, though some of them didn’t get the reference. After stressing over having to walk away, to let Fen go, all Margo wants now is to take it all in, all the little bits of Fen’s life in Silentspell that’s nothing like L.A., or Chicago, or Upstate. So real, yet anything but.

“This is all so unreal,” Fen says, looking at the cottage. “I’m still trying to make sense of it. The throne. The  _ High King _ . We can be ruled by one of our own now.”

“It’s about damn time,” Margo tells her. “Long overdue. And I think I know someone who’d be perfect as the next King.”

Fen nods but doesn’t ask who Margo has in mind, and Margo decides it can wait. She follows Fen’s gaze to the cottage. The structure looks like it had been built from scratch to withstand years of wear, and a little canoe leans against the side, the paint on the surface chipping away beyond recognition. 

“This used to be my home,” Fen says. “I wanted to show you where I used to live. This cottage was my dad’s, and before that, it was my grandparents’. I lived here. Fray was here for a few months. Before we remodeled the Inn to accommodate all of us.”

“You had a nice view.”

“The lake never used to freeze over. I remember looking out my window day after day. It’s magical—this water or the plant life beneath. Or both. I think both. Even after the snowstorms started to hit each winter, this was the only body of water left unfrozen.”

“This is the first year it happened?”

“It wasn’t frozen earlier this winter. I only noticed this yesterday. The first time in history, as far as I know,” Fen says. 

Fen lets go of Margo’s hand and opens the unlocked door, beckoning Margo in. The only source of light comes from the moon, but Margo lets Fen show her the modest space, the open-plan interior so unlike Margo’s old homes with closed doors and polished tiles. The cottage is cozy even though there’s no source of heat now that the place is abandoned. 

“I guess the Kingdom is changing,” Margo says. “Magic and all.”

“There are lakes in other villages I’d stop by along the forest path. In winter, when I ride up north to run an errand or deliver another blade, I’d see children trying to skate on the ice. Some of them would pull the smaller kids on a wagon.”

“You know I used to ice skate?”

Margo senses her surprise, though she can’t make out Fen’s expression in the dark. “I didn’t know it was part of Earth culture.”

“Some of us do it for fun. But when I was little, I… well, some people do it professionally. Like a dance. That’s what I did. We competed over it, too.”

“That sounds dangerous.” Margo imagines Fen wincing. “But incredible. And impossible to imagine.”

Margo doesn’t tell Fen why she stopped; that she lost interest when her dad stopped coming to see her perform, and it hurts to see all the other parents there while she waited for the driver to pick her up. And Fen doesn’t ask, for which Margo is grateful. Fen finds her old desk underneath the window facing the lake and inches closer, letting the moonlight illuminate her silhouette. She boosts herself up to sit on the surface. Margo joins her. The desk gives a little groan of protest but doesn’t buckle under their weight. 

“When the festival’s done, I can show you how. It doesn’t have to be a competition—a lot of times that takes the fun out of it.”

“I’d like that.” Fen turns to face her. Fen pulls the cloak tighter around herself, snuggling up like she knows it’s going to be a long conversation. The fiberglass orb rustles as it slips around the chain on Fen’s neck before Fen holds it in her palm, then looks up. “Oh! You can have this back. I’ll remember you now.”

“It’s yours,” Margo says before Fen can unfasten the chain. “It’s a gift.”

“Oh,” Fen says again, unable to hide her smile. “I… thank you. If-if you insist.”

Fen looks down at her knees, and Margo imagines she’s blushing.

“I insist,” Margo assures her. “And hey, I might have a memory or two stored in there from when I used to skate. I started using it years ago, so… hard to say.”

The statement prompts Fen to look up as Margo intended. “You don’t mind showing me a child version of yourself?”

“I’ll live.”

Fen chuckles but looks like she has something more serious in mind. Margo doesn’t look away and gives her a nod, a silent okay.

“There’s… another reason I brought you out here,” Fen says.

“Hmm?”

“I wanted to show you a part of my past, and I—” Fen closes her mouth, purses her lips, frowns. She sighs and starts over, “Umber’s heart, I’m terrible at this.”

Margo thinks about her mom and her friends back at Haven Way, probably wondering where she and Fen had gone. She doesn’t give a fuck. They’ll return when the evening’s almost done for one last dance, maybe a round of drinks if the villagers had brought any Fillorian booze, but for now, this is a much preferable way to celebrate Midwinter’s Eve.

Margo reaches for Fen’s hand, lacing their fingers to show she’s listening. “Would it help if you tell me a story?” 

“Okay,” Fen says, squeezing her hand once. Fen’s frustration is endearing, but her relief, even more so. “Yes. Okay. My story. The first three months after I took Fray home, she didn’t want to be left alone with anyone else. So wherever I went, she followed. Dad used to say she trailed behind me like a little tail.”

“I’d never have imagined Fray that way,” Margo admits. “She was brave when I met her.”

“She came a long way. I’m proud of her.”

“You were a good influence.”

Being in her old home must’ve made Fen nostalgic, but Margo doesn’t mind hearing about Fen’s life. Fen had spent so long being a part of others’ lives and a part of Fillorian history, she hadn’t taken the time to isolate herself from everything else and see how much she’d grown. But if Fen has a hard time judging for herself, it would be nice to set up a few reminders.

“It wasn’t always me helping Fray,” Fen says, her fingers trailing idly along the back of Margo’s hand. “I wouldn’t be the way I am without her help. When Fray came into my life. I tried my best to look out for her. At that time, I was also trying to find my place back here. Back home. The tavern went out of business, but no one had tried to claim the patch of land. There weren’t enough people here to fight over abandoned houses. It was strange to remember I was no longer a renegade, and I couldn’t imagine myself as anything else. 

“One night, three months after we ran back here from Whitespire, I took Fray to the observation tower when she couldn’t sleep, and we watched the stars all night. And she fell asleep in one of the swings. I carried her home the next morning, and I thought, I might not know who I was to myself, but to Fray, I was her sister. I was her second chance. By then I knew she was a Psychic, but I didn’t know how much of her powers she projected while she was asleep.

“She must have heard me somehow. Because she woke up later that day and found me sitting outside this cottage, staring at the lake. And she took my hand and led me across the field of crops until we got to the greenhouse. I realized she wanted me to show her the Forge. Show her my blades. And she looked so excited about it, I gave in.

“I was expecting to be upset to see everything back there unchanged, the way I’d left it three months ago. But I showed her my old work, even the strange little spikes I made when my mom first taught me. I used to be so proud of those,” Fen adds with a chuckle, “and I realized I still was. And I missed being back there. So when Fray insisted I showed her how the hearth and the tank and the anvil and everything worked, I showed her how I used to do it.”

“Is that how you got back into making blades?” Margo asks.

“It took me a few more weeks before I worked on a full blade. But I went back there every day, and Fray followed me, and she stayed with me when I started working again. Except this time my blades weren’t fashioned to kill. They became something else. Something made to commemorate the good, like the ceremonial daggers my mom used to make. It got me thinking about the old tavern and how I used to dream about the day we’d storm out. 

“But I wasn’t thinking about leaving anymore, because I wanted Fray to be safe. So I turned the tavern into a home, and we moved out of this cottage. It was winter then, and the storm was worse than usual. A few families’ cottages were wrecked, so we rented out the spare rooms. Words got around because of the talking animals, and… yeah.”

It’s easier for Margo to slip up when she’s in the dark where Fen can’t see her. Easier to speak up about her own truths without remembering to redact half her story like the first time they’d talked,  _ really _ talked, huddled against each other in a tiny bed during an impossible storm. 

“For what it’s worth,” Margo says, “I’m proud of you for trying.”

Fen doesn’t answer right away, but Margo hears the desk underneath them groan as Fen shifts in her seat. “What I meant to say—what I wanted to tell you—is… Your magic three nights ago. I know it must have been hard, deciding to do it again. Just like how I had been with making blades. But I don’t know what it means for you. So I...” She squirms again, this time moving closer so her shoulder touches Margo’s. “I want you to know that if you’re ever wondering about it—about your powers, your magic, if you want to let that go again or if you want to reconsider… I’m here to help. If you want to talk, or—I know I’m not a magician. Maybe Eliot would be more suited for this, but I’ll help, how ever I can. I-if you wish.”

Margo can’t figure out what exactly made her do it: build an ice wall and go all-out, trying to shield everyone as if she still believed she could be a savior of some kind. Shit has been all over the place these past few days had been one plot twist after the other, and she can’t make sense of it all. On top of shit-stirring a Kingdom’s political structure and vanquishing a self-entitled God in the span of one evening, Margo had gotten herself tangled up in a bit of romance. A fling. A date. A cute stranger to kiss under the fuckload of Hoberman-inflicted orange mutant mistletoes sprouting out all over the village. Or something else. 

Something more?

“Fen,” Margo prompts, and Fen stares at her without blinking. She smiles to tell Fen it’s all good. Better than good. “I don’t need a magician. Your help is—has been—more than enough. Thank you. For all of it.”

Fen returns the smile. “It’s been an honor having you as my guest.”

Alright. Margo may not know what the fuck this aforementioned romance means in the grand scheme of her murder-free future, but  _ guest _ is not the answer. Though now she can figure out what she wants from all this. Now that no one’s trying to go dementor on Margo’s magical core, and she’d reunited with people she once thought were lost for good, she may as well figure her shit out before the next stroke of terrible luck hits, whenever that might be.

“What I need now,” Margo decides, “is time.”

She can tell Fen is waiting for her to clear up what she means: time to figure things out? Time  _ away _ ? Fen is bracing herself for the possibility of Margo walking out of her life like most visitors do, but at the same time hoping for a change of heart, or simply another night huddled in bed with Margo, talking into the early hours of the morning.

It’s the first time in years that Margo sees herself as anyone’s hope.

“If you wish to stay another night,” Fen says, “the Inn cleared up over the past two days. Most of the guests had gone home to be with their family.”

The thought of a quiet Silentspell Inn makes Margo smirk in a way that would have made Fen turn bright pink if only Fen could see her full expression. Margo humphs, trying to work out everything this offer entails. After a moment, she leans in close to Fen’s ear and whispers, “I’m afraid I’ve run out of funds. Know anyone willing to share?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there Margo stays.


	30. Epilogue

** One Year Later **

Fen wakes up with Margo’s arm slung over her chest and gentle stirring close to her side. She turns to see Margo facing her fast asleep, locking Fen over the mattress in a half-snuggle—a strange declaration of their courtship that never ceases to amuse. Though Fen had fallen asleep much earlier, she remembers Margo climbing into bed long after the night had fallen, the smell of fresh rose petals from her bath lingering across her skin.

By habit, Fen rises with the dawn without fail. No one else has risen except for the chef in the kitchen, already tinkering away at breakfast. Careful not to disrupt her partner’s sleep, Fen cranes her neck and peers past Margo’s shoulders at the gap between the curtains shielding the dropdown window. Waking up in Silentspell would have been a much louder ordeal, but the view from Castle Whitespire has been incredible day after day, especially West toward the mountains, as Margo had promised. Fen smiles at the first hint of the sun rising from behind the mountain peaks cloaked in five shades of brown now that the leaves from the colorful trees had all fallen. 

There are many things Fen misses about her old life, her father and Fray most of all, and even her mother, though they had only reunited last winter and barely begun to make up for the years lost. Not to mention her friends and the Inn and the forest and farmlands, and Silentspell as a whole, the village Fen had called home until her coronation on Midsummer six months ago. Ever since Margo showed up on her path across the forest last winter, Fen’s life had been riddled with life-altering decisions, and now that this year is drawing to an end, Fen takes the time to marvel at how unexpectedly her fate had shifted. 

A year ago, if someone had suggested that a Fillorian could claim the seat of the High King, or any of the four members of the ruling council, for that matter, Fen would have deemed the idea preposterous. Ember and Umber had deemed the Fillorians unfit to rule themselves, but last winter the Gods had become history and Eliot made the final deal with the Fairy Queen, thus overturning the divine plans. And the Children of Earth—Margo, Eliot, their friends—had introduced the system of democracy.

The election campaign launched on the day of the Spring Equinox. Fen had met two of the three men competing for the position of High King during her trade ventures and blade commissions from the years past. Margo and Alice had brought up Fen’s campaign, but Fen had insisted she wouldn’t be fit to rule. She had spent her life sheltered inside a magic shield while the rest of the Kingdom suffered losses from Irene’s reign of terror, and she could not begin to imagine what changes she could implement on a land that was repairing itself, drawing from vital magic that once belonged to a magician.

It turned out, however, that the Fillorians wished for someone they could trust. Someone who wished to be of service instead of wished to be served. And Fen’s reputation as the Innkeep had grown beyond her own expectations, though the memory spell was to blame. In addition to all this, Margo and Eliot had not mentioned anything about a “write-in” ballot, so when a jury of Librarians visited the Kingdom, led by Zelda, to count the votes and declare the winner of the election, Fen was shocked to see her own name rising to the top.

The talking animals, who by far outnumbered the humans, had been responsible for most of her votes. Gallop had built a name for himself among his intellectual equals in the forest, and he had vouched for Fen. It was unconventional for a woman to rise to the highest title, and Irene McAllister had set an unfavorable precedent, but whatever doubts the people of the Kingdom still harbor for the new High King, Fen hopes she can overcome them by ruling by the same principle she once upheld as a villager: a Fillorian who looks out for her own people and tries to give everyone their best chance.

Many Fillorians say Fen is an unorthodox High King, but at the age of breaking traditions, Margo insists it suits her. Fen would have recommended Margo as a ruler instead if Eliot hadn’t made the deal, but the first time Fen brought this up to the girlfriend in question, the last night they slept in her bedroom in Silentspell, Margo had shut her up with a kiss mid-sentence and snogged the words out of her. As payback, Fen had instituted Margo as her Queen the day after she received the crown, and her suggestion nearly gave Tick an aneurysm. 

Tick had pointed out how unprecedented this decision would be, and Josh had chortled, raised a brow, and whispered it would be scandalous. But it was a harsh word, much too harsh, and not one befitting a woman who wishes to take time getting to know her partner before she commits to marriage. In the end, Fen had the final say, and she had brought Margo up to share her throne as well as her chamber. As a magician, Margo’s perspective would benefit the Kingdom. Though Fen has to admit her choice of advisor was selfish in part.

A gentle knock on the door brings Fen out of her Margo-induced reverie. Reluctantly she pulls away from her girlfriend and left the bed, throwing a cloak over her nightgown. She opens it ajar and peeks out. Tick stands in the hall wearing the most embarrassed of smiles. 

“Sorry to disturb, Your Highness,” he says, wringing his hands. “But your friends have arrived and are waiting inside the courtyard… earlier than appointed.”

Fen forces back a chuckle. Tick is a stickler for rules and punctuality, and while it makes him a skillful advisor, when it comes to friends, he is stricter than necessary. “Thank you, Tick,” Fen says. “Could you tell Hazel to bring them some tea? And a few pastries. We’ll join them before the next hour.”

Tick nodded and excused himself, still grumbling about unexpected guests. It’s a marvel Eliot and Quentin had shown up earlier rather than later per their usual fashion, but a trip back to Earth for Christmas is a good incentive. They hadn’t come into the Castle—Eliot had too many memories here, and it would take time before he could convince himself to step in. And Quentin, being Quentin, was happy to keep him company no matter how much he loved castles.

“Fuck.”

Fen turns to see Margo rise out of bed, cursing the living daylight out of the window. She walks back to the bed and leans over to give her a peck on the cheek. “Morning, stranger.”

“It’s early.”

“The boys are already here,” Fen says.

“Tell them to go home.”

“Hmm.” Fen walks over to the window, a spring in her steps. She pulls the curtain open slowly and hears Margo groan again. “I believe that is the arrangement.”

Hearing this makes Margo smile as Fen had intended, but every bit of this is true. A year ago, Fen would not have imagined Earth as a second home, but that world had become more than just a name after Fen was elected as High King, and her parents and Fray had decided to move to New York City where her mother had been living for over a decade. Her father is enrolled in the police academy and hopes to one day fight alongside his wife like they used to, and Fray has been accepted by a school that teaches sign language. 

“I bet Fray’s dying to see you,” Margo says. She grabs the set of clothes hanging outside their wardrobe and walks behind the changing screen. 

Fen finds her own set of strange outfits and takes them off the hangers, hugging them close against her chest. Margo and Tansy had worked on it together to prepare Fen for her first time on Earth. It will be a challenge to get accustomed to pants, perhaps as much as a challenge as when she first started as High King. “We’re all meeting up at Kady’s?”

Margo walks out behind the changing screen in a form-fitting sweater and smirks when Fen feels her cheeks grow warm. After courting for a year, Fen still gets flustered around seeing Margo in her bedroom. But these days Margo is kinder about teasing Fen over it, for which Fen is thankful. “Yes, babe.” She lifts up one of the items Fen holds, a black sweater tunic in a soft floral pattern of orange and pink. “They’ll all be there. So you can’t show up naked.”

Fen huffs but makes no comment, and dresses herself like Margo had shown her before, feeling a strange power wash over her. She walks down the spiraling stairs holding Margo’s hand, carefully stretching out the jeans that hug the form of her leg in case she ripped a seam. They emerge on the first floor, but before they can walk into the courtyard, Margo pulls her into an alcove for a quick snog, making perfect use of the architecture. The castle had been remodeled extensively after the battle last winter, most of all the use of lumber in conjunction with the limestones from centuries past, but the layout remained much the same.

“Wait!” Fen pulls away. “Our present!”

“I got it. One for each family, right?” Margo pulls out a dagger from her bag, one of many that Fen crafted over the past year. She may be a King during the day, but after the drawbridge has been pulled and the evening begins, she is still a Knifemaker, only her workshop is one of the countless chambers in a castle far too big. “Hmm. Maybe I’ll keep this for myself.”

“Margo!” Fen pretends to look affronted.

“I’ll find them something else. Hell, I’ll take you shopping.” Margo brushes her thumb over Fen’s cheek. “Dress you up like royalty. New York’s got everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Knives?”

Margo holds her hand and leads her out. “Not as nice as yours, but yes. It’s got all the knives you want.”

Josh is waiting at the courtyard alongside Quentin and Eliot. All three of the men are dressed in Earth clothes, and their looks give Fen a pause—it’s been a while since she’d seen them in anything other than tunics and cloaks. Josh wears a look of glee on his face brighter than his usual jovial expressions, which is saying a lot when it comes to Josh Hoberman. But he has every reason to be happy. Three months ago, Marina had sent a message through a bunny to inform him that she had tracked down Todd, the younger brother they shared. 

Now Todd is waiting with their friends and family, ready to reunite with his brother.

As for Eliot? After Fen was elected and Margo moved in with her, Eliot and Quentin settled in the village across the moat, the one that follows the incline of the mountains halfway. 

Once upon a time, Margo and El watched Westpeak from the wall walk and admired the pink trees stretched all the way across the top of the mountains. But that was a lifetime ago, and the El who lived there now is a happier El, married to the man of his dreams in a village where everyone knows them as Eliot and Quentin, and nothing else. And Fen and Margo and their friends, and the people who once worked in the Castle when El was growing up, are more than happy to keep the secret of El’s past as only that.

Penny appears after they all exchange hugs and pack some of Josh’s pastries to bring to the gathering. He waits patiently as they all stand in a circle and hold hands. They are traveling to his place—a penthouse in Manhattan for him and his partners to call home, registered under all three of their names. This was the wish he had made when he met the White Lady back when everything was uncertain. A sanctuary that marks the end of their Quest.

A promise of a new beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it all the way to the end, congrats, and thank you so, so much <3 I am honored to present a story that gives you feels (good as well as bad, I hope!). I’m always happy to chat about this fic. You can also find me on tumblr @nightjarpatronus, or my main @chapterstoinfinity if you prefer less writing stuff and more fandom feels. I know I haven’t posted in a while but I’M ALIVE! Heh.
> 
> What the other characters are up to:  
> 1\. Alice and Vic share an apartment across the hall from Fray’s family in New York and try to relearn how to be sisters.  
> 2\. Vic and Marina may or may not be dating. They would strongly insinuate it but never give verbal confirmation. (They totally are, though.)  
> 3\. Mira joins an underground network of hedge witches run by Harriet as well as Marina. Pete is their top information source, and Cassia is well-loved among that circle. They still use code names, both for anonymity and because it’s rad. Mira’s code name is Lady Hurricane, per Marina’s suggestion.  
> 4\. Todd now works as a preschool teacher.  
> 5\. Josh continues to work at The Rolling Scones in Silentspell but sometimes sneaks his way over to the kitchen in Whitespire to devise questionable recipes with the chef.  
> 6\. Yes, Fen gets to see Cassia again.
> 
> P.S. By the way, in case any of you had been reading my season 4 fix-it “What’s Fixed Will Always Be Broken”, I have plans to finish it before January 15th! I haven’t abandoned it. I had simply neglected it… for five months. Oops?


	31. All the artwork!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the artwork in one place! In chronological order!

Young Margo teaching Eliot waltz

* * *

Trip to the Darkling Woods

* * *

Fargo date in the watchtower


	32. SPOILERS: Timeline

**1980’s**

Mira and Hannah study under Everett and Irene. They discover the truth about fairies, and Raymond makes them forget.

**1992**

Margo, Eliot, and Fen born.

**1993**

Kady, Penny, Julia, Quentin, Alice, and Todd born.

**1997**

Irene brings Eliot to Fillory.

**1998**

Mira leaves Margo and Raymond and goes to Silentspell to commission the Leo Blade. Freya goes missing. The shield around Silentspell is raised.

**1999**

Hannah leaves Kady, Todd, and Marina. Mira leaves Silentspell. Hannah is killed. Ember and Umber go into hiding. Umber goes to Earth to hide.

**2000**

Freya goes to Earth and gives Quentin the book about Fillory.

**2001**

Todd is adopted by the Hobermans.

**2002**

Fray is born.

**2003**

Mayakovsky rescues Marina from the corner store and becomes her mentor. Harriet takes Kady in. Pete’s soul is untethered from his magical core. Everett no longer has to steal powers because untethered magic won’t kill him eventually. El is imprisoned in the North Tower in Whitespire. 

**2005**

El escapes to the Neitherlands and begins his Quest. Gallop finds his way to Silentspell. Josh and Todd’s parents pass away after an accident. Fray is taken in as Irene’s ward.

**2007**

Margo moves to Chicago.

**2008**

Margo and Alice start dating. Kady and Julia start dating. Quentin and Eliot start dating. (Not a deliberate setup by the author whatsoever. Not at all. Nope. Total coincidence.)

**2009**

Kady meets Penny and Cassia, and reunites with Pete. Fen and Baylor and other men invade Castle Whitespire, and Fen brings Fray home. Fen opens the Silentspell Inn.

**2010**

Kady/Julia/Penny start dating. Charlie is killed. Alice runs away to Modesto. Mira goes to Fillory in search of Silentspell and gets captured by Irene. Skye brings Eliot and Kady the bad news about Everett.

**2011**

Margo leaves for college in Upstate New York and breaks ties with Raymond. Quentin and El study with Fogg. Kady/Julia/Penny go to Mayakovsky’s. Margo goes to the Neitherlands with Josh and Victoria. Josh ends up in Fillory.

**2012**

Alice leaves Modesto. Sheila goes to the Neitherlands as Alice’s spy. Victoria is rescued and the Compass is recovered. Kady finds her old trailer and says goodbye.

**2013**

Margo returns to Fillory to find the Leo Blade. El and his Questers also return.

**2014**

Fen is voted and crowned as the High King.


End file.
